Author 



Y * 




o 
o 



Title 



•^ ** s 



2e. 



Imprint 



18^7 




THE BOTTLE 



A DRAMA 



IN TWO ACTS. 



BY T. P. TAY LOR. 

POUNDED ON THE GRAPHIC ILLUSTRATIONS OF 

I GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, ESQ. 

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THE BOTTLE 



THE MINOR DRAMA 

No. XX. 



THE BOTTLE 

'2. JUrama 



IN TWO ACTS. 



BY TT P.^'VaYLOR 



FOUNDED UPON THE GBAPHIO ILLUSTRATIONS OF 

GEORGE GRUIESHANE, ESQ. 



WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, CAST OF CHARACTERS, 
RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC. 



NEW YORK: 
JOHN DOUGLAS, No. 11 SPRUCE STREET. 






^KOFWA^^'-^' 








[Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, by John 
Douglas, in the Clerk's OflBce of the District Court of the Sou-, 
them District of the State of New York.] 



EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION. 

" The Bottle" is one of those faithful, yet startling portrai- 
tures of real life, which addresses itself to the capacity of every 
individual, and awakens a responsive chord in every bosom 
which is not entirely destitute of good affections. It is an effort 
to embody in a dramatic form the graphic illustrations, of the 
same name, by the celebrated Cruikshank, which have obtained 
such an immense circulation both in this country and in England, 
and which are supposed to have had more influence in promot- 
ing the cause of temperance than any other publication what- 
ever. And if this has been the result of a series of pictures 
alone, how much more may be expected from a dramatic repre- 
sentatioa of them, where not only the eye, but the other senses 
also, are awakened by a living portraiture of the drunkard's ca- 
reer. This intensely interesting drama will probably be per- 
formed in nearly every theatre in the country ; and if the Sons 
and Daughters of Temperance are true to their cause, they will 
Search the highways, and take the intemperate to witness it. 

In its present shap«, " The Bottle" is undoubtedly too long 
for representation, and to use a technical term, needs much cut- 
ting — an operation which each manager will perform for himself; 
but as a reading drama, not a word can be omitted without in- 
curring a loss. The characters of Richard and Ruth TJwrnley^ 
in the hands of accomplished artistes, are capable of being made 
exceedingly effective ; indeed, the very highest degree of talent 
is requisite to personate them with the force of which they are 
susceptible. 

The overpov»'ering intensity of the dramatic parts of this play, 
are agreeably relieved by the oddities of Cobbles^ a cockney 
pot-boy and pie-man. We do not usually undertake to criticise 
performers ; but in the present case it would be unjust to the 
public not to say, that Mr. W. H. Chapman rendered this part 
at the Park Theatre with a genuine, life-like humour and drolle- 
ry, which we have rarely seen equalled, but never surpassed. 

«* The Bottle" has been produced at the Park Theatre with 
great credit to that establishment. The tableaux were exceed- 
ingly well executed, and the ensemble of the whole piece was 
surprising, considering the short time taken to produce it. 

We have to acknowledge the kindness of Edmund Simpson, 
Esq., for the opportunity of presenting thus early to the Ameri- 
can public this excellent drama. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

Citij of London, 1847. Park, 1847. 

Richard TTiornley (a Mechanic) Mr. Lyon. Mr. G. Andrews. 

George Gray (ditto) " Craven. " Stark. 

Joe ( Son to Thornley) Master Dolphin. Miss Flynn. 

Coddles (a Potboy) Mr. Herbert. Mr. W. B. Chapman 

Dognose (a Sporting Character) " E. B. Gaston. '• Barry. 

Hon. George Hounslow (a Roue) " Marshall. " McDouall. 

Sergant Crank (on Recruiting Service) " E, Smith. " Dougherty. 

Sinks {a Policeman, 2-i2) " Pierce. " Povey. 

Spike {Sicurn Broker and Appraiser) " Ersser Jones. " A.Andrews. 

Tom Ex {his Man) " Richardson. " Rae. 

Tyke and Meadows ( Workmen) " Bernard, Heath 

Ruth Thornley {Wife to Richard) Mrs. R. Honner. 3Irs. G. Jones. • 

Ellen {her Daughter) Miss Brock. Miss Lawrence. 

Esther Clare {a Sempstress) Mrs. R. F. Saville. Mrs. Frary, 

JKitty Crump {a Shoebinder) '* R. Barnet. " Knight. 

Mrs. Wolf {Lodging-house Keeper) " Griffiths. " Dyott. 

Mrs. Grump {ditto) Miss Davis. " Barry. 

Workmen, Police, Passengers, Mob, Children, ifC. 



EXITS AND ENTRANCES. 
R. means Right; L. Left; R. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door; 
S. E. Second Entrance ; Uj E. Upper Entrance; M. D. Middle Door. 

RELATIVE POSITIONS. 
R., means Right; L., Left; C, Centre ; R. C, Right of Centre, 
L. C, Left of Centre. 



Passages marked with Inverted Commas are iisually omitted in the 
Representation . 



THE BOTTLE. 



ACT I . 
Scene I. — A neatly -furnished Room in Thornley^s House, 

Tableau the First. — " The Happy Home ; the Bottle is 

brought out for the First Time,''* 

Ruth, Thornly, Emma, and, Ned discovered. 

Thor. Come, wife, one glass — only one, now ; just take 
a glass. 

Ruth. You know my aversion, Richard, to drink of any 
kind ; it is the forerunner of all evil. The very sight of 
it inspires me with dread ; I am very sorry you have 
brought it here. 

Thor. Now you're getting low-spirited; I couldn't have 
done a better thing. What so good for cheering low spi- 
rits as a glass of this ] When one's vexed, now, or put 
out, this brightens one up, and makes all right again. 
Recollect, this day ten years we were married ; and I ask 
you to oblige me, and you won't. It makes one think 
you're not so happy as you profess to be. 

Ruth. Happy, Richard! let the stranger enter, and 
judge, from the comfort around, whether I could be other- 
wise than happy ; let him look at the smiling faces that 
grace our humble board, and say whether it speaks not of 
contentment! No, Richard, I have been very happy; 
and to oblige you, though unwillingly, I will taste with 
you, and pray, that it may continue, that no dark cloud 
may shadow our humble, yet happy fireside ! 

Thor. \Hafids the glass; she tastes, and puts it do?vn.] 
That's well; but the thoughts of a dark cloud shadowing 
our fireside — what put that into your head 1 

Ruth. I only hoped, Richard, it might not. \Turns aivoy. 



8 THE BOTTLE. [Act I. 

Thor. [Rising^ Why, how now *? there's a tear glisten- 
ing in your eye. I say, children, you hav'n't been vexing 
her, eh 1 

Ruth, (c.) Oh, no ; they are ever good, and dutiful. 

Thor. (r.) There's something on your mind, and it's no 
use concealing it. Come, I must and will know it. 

Ruth. Then, since you bid me speak, hear me, Richard, 
and without anger. It is that which causes me sorrow. 
[Points to hottIe.\ Its progress is slow, but sure ; it is the 
pest of the humble home ; it is the withering curse of the 
happy circle ; the deadly poison that corrupts and withers, 
changing the good to bad ; it fascinates but to destroy ; it 
charms in its progress, but its end is the grave. What re- 
proach so bitter as the term of Drunkard % Mark the re- 
sult that waits upon its victims ; they are spurned by their 
fellow-men as a pestilence ; they dread the day, for they 
cannot brook the eye of scorn, and long for night, that 
they may shroud themselves in darkness, and deeply drink, 
to banish recollection. I have seen all this — seen it in that 
family, once so happy, happy as ourselves, whom the de- 
mon Drink has claimed. This it is, Richard, that gives 
me sorrow. Oh ! by the memory of our old loves, fly it, 
shun it, avoid it ! 

Thor. Why, Ruth, lass, you beat parson at church ; you 
have made me feel so chilly, and I tremble like the leaves 
when the wind whistles through them ; I must just take 
another glass, to warm me a bit. [Goes up. 

Ruth. [Crosses, B..] No, no, Richard; no more, if you 
love me ; cast it from you as you would a loathsome thing, 
for there is poison in the touch. Do, Richard, do; or its 
fascinating influence will teach you to love it better far 
than Ruth. She will be forgotten, and that will be your 
only charm. 

Thor. Damn the bottle ! I wish I had never seen it. 
You make me feel so uncomfortable, that, sooner than 
have any more words about it, I'll throw bottle and all 
away ! 

Ruth. Do, Richard, do ! and it will make me indeed 
happy to find that my words have awakened your better 
reason — that I have not spoken vainly. You hesitate — 

Thor. (c.) Well, you see, Ruth, they do say it be sin- 
ful to waste anything; now, this cost a matter of one-and- 



Scene I.J THE BOTTLE. 9 

tenpence, and — and 'tis very good spirit, and I don't thmk 
it be right to throw it away. Suppose, now, you felt 
sickish like, see how handy it would be to have a drop in 
the house, or in case a friend calls in. 

Ruth. As you will, Richard ; but for my sake — for the 
sake of those around you — do not forget yourself as a 
man ; do not forget those who look up to you for sup- 
port ; nor, by the neglect which it teaches, desolate that 
earth, once so joyous and happy. 

[ They embrace ; he puts bottle on table. 

Enter (Jeorge Gray, d. in f., down e". 

Geor. Good evening, Mrs. Thornley, Ah ! Richard, 
I'm glad to find you at home. 

Thor. [To him.] Hush ! not a word. [Aside. 

Ruth. Glad to find Richard at home 1 where else did 
you expect to find him ] or where else, George, at the 
close of his day's toil, should a father be found, but in the 
bosom of his family 1 

Geor. True, but I thought — [Looks uneasily at Richard, 

Thor. George, won't you take a drop of anything? 
we've got it in the house. There, wife, now you see how 
handy it is. [Goes up and Jills glass. 

Geor. No, no ; I wouldn't touch a drop for the world. 

TJior. Why, this is the anniversary of our wedding-day; 
you won't refuse to drink the missus's health, and pros- 
perity to the young ones, eh ? [Ruth crosses behind to l. 

Geor. I will wish them all the good they wish them- 
selves, and long, long days of unmingled happiness; but 
I won't drink — I dar'nt ; and I'm sure Mrs. Thornley will 
not think the less of me for refusing. 

Ruth. No, George, I admire you the more. 

Thor. Well, then, there'll be no harm in ray drinking 
your health, and wishing us all prosperity. [Drinks. 

Ruth. Again, Richard ! 

Thor. (r.) Well, it was only one glass, and 'twere pity 
to waste it. Egad ! they may say what they like, but 
there be naught like a drop of good liquor, after all. 

Geor. (c.) I want to speak with you, Richard ; but — 

Thor. I understand. Wife ! hadn't thee better put the 
children to bed 1 it be getting late. 

Ruth. I hope, George, you havn't come to take him 
away ? 



10 THK BOTTLE. [Act I. 

• Thor. No ; I ain't going out ; George has just dropped 
in to have a chat, and mayhap he'll stop and spend the 
evening wi' us, and have a social glass. Come, children, 
give us a buss. [Crosses up to them. 

Thor. Good night ! [Shalics hands, h^c. 

Ruth. \Aside.\ I wonder what made him turn so pale 
when he saw George 1 \Kxity l. h., with the children. 

Thor. Now, George, what makes you look so solid, eh ? 

Gcor. You havn't been to W(jrk to-day. 

Thor. Hush 1 hush ! don't let her know. 

Gear. I can't blame you for concealing it from her, for 
1 can well guess what her feelings would be ; but this is 
not the first time, by many, that you have absented your- 
self. Your conduct has been noticed. I need scarcely 
ask the reason of this change — it is this [Points to the 
hottle] : and, from being one of the most sober and in- 
dustrious men, you are becoming — 

Thor. I know — a drunkard ! But don't talk about that, 
don't ; I've had enough of it all the evening : but I do 
like a glass, and that's the truth on't. 

Geor. You must conquer the feeling, or it will conquer 
you. 

Thor. D — n thy preaching ! didn't I tell you I'd have 
no more on't ? 

Geor. I come to warn you as a friend, Richard, and you 
must hear me ; or you may learn that from others which 
may prt)ve less pleasing. I have that to say which I 
wouldn't for the world she should hear — you have to-day 
again been absent. 

Thor. Well, they can stop the day's pay, and there's an 
end of it. 

Geor. And how many days, and how often, have they 
done the same, and with no better effect ! To conceal 
the deficiency from your wife, you have resorted to other 
means — betting with grooms, jockeys, and so on. Your 
intoxication has been observed ; the blow is impending — 
avert it — there is yet time ; and shun for ever the cause 
of all your miseries, the public-house. 

Thor. Look you, George ; I thank you f )r all you have 
said, and feel it here. I love my home, and heaven for- 
bid that I should destroy its happiness : 1 love it so well, 
that if I thought she knew all tliis, I think it woiild drive 



Scene I.] 



THE BOTTLE. 11 



rae mad, for I never could bear her just reproof. You 
speak of the public-house as the cause of misery to me 
and others : well, let the employers settle with the humble 
artizan elsewhere, and not compel him to receive his hard 
earnings on the Saturday at the public-house, which holds 
out the temptation, and may end in his corruption. 

Geor. Summon resolution to your aid ; all men have 
fortitude — exert it. I was gradually creeping into the 
same error, but the debasement and regret I felt enabled 
me to conquer the temptation : do you the same. 

Thor. Well, I will — I will ; but things arn't come to 
the worst yet, eh ? 

Geor. No ; but I heard our employer say that intoxica- 
tion had spread to so great an extent in the factory, that 
he should put a stop to it, by discharging those who had 
given way to this fatal vice. 

Thor. But there have been others who are worse than 
me. There's Dognose, now, and — 

Geor. 'Twas a warning intended for all — for the sober 
man to avoid the evil, for the drunkard to reflect. The 
man you have named is no friend to any one, and at bot- 
tom idle and reckless. But your wife returns — think up- 
on what I have said ; for I mean it friendly, beheve me. 

Thor. I know — I know you do ] but I arn't too far gone 
yet, am I 1 No, no ; and I won't be led away, nor go to 
the house again — 1 won't. But, George, not a word to 
her ; she mustn't know — promise that. 

Geor. 1 wouldn't for the world cause her a single pang; 
it is for this reason I have sought you, and with the best 
intentions. You may rely upon my keeping my word — 
you keep yours. Good bye ! and let to-morrow find you 
at your business. 

Thor. And every other day, George, please heaven ! 
Good bye ! and thank you kindly. 

\Music. He shakes hands tvith George, who exits, d. in p. 
Phew ! how cold his words have made me. My blood 
seems chilled and frozen, and I ain't done anything par- 
ticularly wrong, neither — not more than other men — not 
so bad. Oh, yes ! Richard, you have ; you have deceived 
her, the wife of your bosom— she who has been all truth, 
lore, and confidence ; for you have told her a lie, and now 
you wonder that you tremble. Tt is the guilt at your 



12 THE BOTTLE. fAcT I. 

heart, Richard, upbraiding you for the wrong you have 
done, which makes you feel like a coward. My discharge 
threatened — and it may come, and with it poverty, ruin, 
and disgrace. Poverty to them ! Drink! — drink, to give 
me courage, or she will read in my face the secret of my 
lieart. One glass only, and the last. \I)rinl<,s.\ So ! — how 
it rouses and cheers one ; I feel a new man again. But 
1 won't endure these troubles — no, no ! I remember, be- 
fore I took to this, I felt quite differeut : it has changed 
me, somehow — made me feel fiercer and more irritable, 
like ; but I'll have no more of it — no, not a drop. 

Bnter Ruth, l. 

Riith. So, George has gone. Rather a hasty visit. — 
Why, how pale you look ! No ill news from the factory, 
I hope ; nothing wrong % 

Thor. Why, what should there be wrong 1 You have 
always unpleasant thoughts in your head ! [Testili/. 

Ruth. [Mildh/.] Well, I only asked ; and, from your 
manner, I fear there is. 

Thor. I tell you, no ! AVhat has the factory to do with 
you 1 Hold your tongue, will you ! 

Ruth, Richard, we have been married for ten years, 
without a harsh word being spoken ; I hear them now for 
the first time — nor will it be the last, if you listen not to 
me : do, do, for it is not the loving husband that is speak- 
ing to me now, but the evil spirit within him. | Weeps. 

Thoi\ There, don't weep, don't : we'll be comfortable 
as ever ; for you know, wife, there is nothing to make us 
otherwise. 

Ruth. Yes, Richard — this ! [Points to bottle. 

Thor, Ah ! but you know not what I ha' done since 
you have been away — I took another glass — 

Ruth. Another ! 

Thor. Ah ! but hear what for — I took another glass, 
and I said. You be very beautiful — there's no denying it 
be good, you know, and cheering, and so on : but it's my 
last glass, so good bye, for I'll never touch you again. 

Rnth. Dear Richard ! [Embraces.'] and now all things 
arcund grow bright again ; for I feel the spell of the 
temptation is broken for ever ! 



ScJEmBl.] THE BOTTLE. 13 

Enter Kitty, d, in f. 

Kitty. Ah ! that's as it should be ; I like to see every- 
body happy. I couldn't help giving you a look in, on my 
road. home. How's all the children ? 

Ruth. Well, and at rest. 

Kitty. Ah ! it's a fine thing to go to bed early ; I've 
got a lot of shoes to bind, that'll keep me up half the 
night. Ah ! w^hen we're children, we thi-nk it hard to go 
to bed soon ; when we grow up, and want to go to bed, 
we can't. Mr. Thornton's not looking quite so well : I 
like to make everybody happy. 

Thoi'. I'm well enough — nothing ails me. [Goes up. 

Kitty. That's more than they can say at the baker's. — 
Haven't you heard the news I [Crosses, c. 

Ruth. No — what has happened ] 

Kitty. Well, I thought you'd like to hear — I like to 
make everybody, happy. Ruff's, the baker's, next to the 
public-house, where they sell the divinest gl — glass of 
spirits. [Aside^^ I see there's a bottle on the table ; they 
might ask me. 

Ruth. Well ! 

Kitty. Their youngest child's dead — measles, they say 
— teething, I think. By the bye, it was the smallest 
child ; but, however, it's gone, poor dear ! bad nursing, 
I'm told — mother drank. [Richard starts ; Ruth looks nt 
him.\ They don't ask me. Ah ! drinking's a bad thing ! 
I like to make everybody happy. 

Ruth. It is, indeed ! 

Kitty. There's one comfort, drinking don't trouble me 
much. 

Thor. Hang her chatter. [Aside. 

Kitty. Of course, yoii've heard the news about the 
factory 1 

Ruth. The factory ] 

Thor. What] what] [Down, -r. 

Kitty. Oh ! Mr. Innocence ! Come, I like your pre- 
tending not to know; why, there's a lot of the men going 
to be discharged, for missing their day's work, through 
intoxication. I like to make everybody happy. 

Ruth. That can't affect us ; my Richard never lost a 
day, and has ever been sober and industrious : he is not 
the inmate of a public-house. 



14 THE BOTTLE. [Act I. 

Kitty. Oh ! then it wasn't you I saw standing at the 
bar of the " High-Mettled Racer," the other morning'? I 
like to make everybody happy. 

Ruth. My Richard ! he would scorn to be seen there — 
you are mistaken. 

Thor. Y — yes — of course. Won't you take a glass 1 

Kitty. Well, I thought I should get some at last. [Aside.] 
Since you're so very pressing, I'll just take a wee, very 
wee drop. [Fills glass, and drinks.] 1 do really think this 
came from my shop. It's very comforting. Talking of 
comfort, your fellow-workman, George Gray, is sticking 
up to Esther Clare, the young milliner. She works in the 
.room next to us ladies. I suppose we shall hear of a 
marriage coming off soon ; but, as I told her, she is very 
foolish. Families will come, you know, Mrs. Thornley — 
short wages — children and bread-and-butter, all day long. 
I like to make everybody happy. 

Enter Dognose, d. in p. 

Well, T declare, if here ain't Mr. Dognose ! 

Dog. [r. c] Good evening, all ! 

Ruth, Why do 1 dread the presence of that man 1 

Dog. I'm glad to find you here. I've been waiting for 
you. You know that job's to come off to-night. 

Ruth. Business to-night ! it can't be connected with the 
factory. You are not going out, Richard ] 

Thor. No, no ; I have no wish. 

Dog. [Aside.] But I have, and it's necessary — you've 
got a chance in the stakes. Come down, and know the 
worst. We shall meet some prime fellows there. Come ! 

Thor. J^o, no, let me stay here ; I have promised. — 
You can return, and let me know. 

Dog. I can't and won't go without you; recollect 
that — 

Thor. Hush ! hush ! my wife observes. [Aside. 

Dog. As you are so frightened of her, take care I don't 
frighten her more. [Aside. 

Ruth. What can this mean ] 

Kitty. Well, I must say it's not over-polite to be whis- 
pering in presence of ladies ; however, I won't be a tax 
upon anybody. Talking of taxes, the broker's man says 
this neighbourhood's terribly behind, both in rent and 



Scene I.] THE BOTTLE. 16 

taxes ; and that as to-morrow's quarter-day, some of 'em 
had better look out. He says they've had warning by 
letter. I like to make everybody happy. 

Ruth. That reminds me ! — the letter of yesterday — why 
did Richard conceal it from me % 

Dog. You hear and know. I don't suppose, after that, 
you'll lose the chance of making some money. That sum 
would make you square. Think ! for the time flies. 

Kitty. Well, it don't appear that I'm an object of in- 
terest here, so I may as well take my departure. Certain 
persons might offer, if they liked, to see certain persons 
home; but there's no gallantry in these parts. Good 
night, Mr. Thornley — good night; glad to see you all so 
well. Good night, Mr. — 

Dog. Oh, good night ! 

Kitty. Ah ! I shall live to see that man discharged, Mrs. 
T. Between ourselves, I've heard that man drinks aw- 
ful. I like to make everybody happy. [Goes to door.\ — 
Mercy on me ! there's a little girl leaning out of window ; 

she'll fall, to a certainty. Mr. , your child's falling 

out of window. I like to make everybody happy. 

[Exit, D. in p. 

Dog. Are you resolved 1 

Thor. Yes, it must be. [Takes up hat.] Wife, 1 must go 
out. 

Ruth. At this hour, Richard ? 

Dog. Why, it's an unexpected matter up at the factory; 
it will put money in his pocket. 

Ruth. Richard, tell me, is it indeed tO the factory you're 
going ] 

Thor. Yes. Why should you doubt ? 

Ruth. Enough — I will take your word, for you never 
yet deceived me. 

Dog. Pity you didn't ask that party to stay with your 
good lady ; but, however, we shan't be long. 

Ruth. When may I expect you to return 1 

Dog. Oh, in an hour ! The sooner we go, the sooner 
We shall be back. Come ! don't look so glum ; I know 
it's unpleasant to leave one's home, and the faces that 
make it so bright and cheering ; but business, you know, 
Mrs. Thornley, must be looked to. Here, take a glass to 
keep out the cold. 



16 THE BOTTLK. lAI Act I. 

Ru'tli. Oh, no! Richard doesn't drink. 

Dog. Oh, oh ! Well, I do. Here's to you, Mrs. Thorn- 
ley — better times, and soon. 

Thor. Well, T must drink that ! o isoooooooooiXyyit 

RutJi. Husband ! 

Thor. One glass — only one. [Drinks.^ Now I'm ripe 
for business. 

Ruth. In an hour — remember ! 

TJior. In an hour. [Exit, D. in p. 

Ruth. My mind misgives me— but, no ! he would not 
tell me a falsehood. That letter — let me look for that. — 
[Searches drawe?\\ 'Tis here ! Great heaven ! as I ex- 
pected, from the landlord — " half-yearns rent due to-mor- 
row ; and if not paid — " [Drops letter.] Half-year's rent 
due ! It was ever paid punctually as the quarter came. 
Merciful powers ! what horrid thoughts are these that fill 
ray mind ? I feared the worst, and it has come. Hope, 
all flies, for he has deceived me. Oh ! brain, brain ! 

Enter Kitty. 

Kitty. Excuse me, Mrs. Thornley ; but your hus- 
band — 

Ruth. Well! 

Kitty. I thought you'd like to know where to find 
him. 

Ruth. And that is — 

Kitty. At the public-house. I like to make everybody 
happy. 

RutJi. Oh ! the deception thickens. " Love has fled for 
« ever — confidence broken, for he has told me a lie." — 
What trust can I have in future promises '] — " what faith 
" can I place in his love 1" None, none ; for he has told 
me a lie ! 

Kitty. Dear me, what could have been the cause ? 

Ruth. This [Shews bottle] fiend ! Thou hast destroyed 
us ; the tempter has come, and ruin stands upon the 
threshold. 

[Sinks down; Kitty leans over her; closed in. 

Scene II. — Finshury Square — Evening. 
Enter Coddles, with tray of beer, r. 
Cod. What a thing is life ! Beer, oh ! What's the 



Scene II.] 



THE BOTTLE. 17 



use of talking about being contented with your situation, 
if your situation ain't worth nothing. I never vvas cut out 
for this line o' life; I'm too haspiring — the field and the 
fancy's my idea. I don't mean the field of Waterloo, or 
any of them millingtary romantic places, but the turf and 
the glorious horse-racing — that's my idea ; and when T al- 
ludes to a ring, I don't mean that little gold hoop that 
takes man in execution of life, but the noble art of self- 
defence. Matrimony's all very well, but it's nothing with-,, 
out the mopusses ! I want an heiress — and why not 1 — 
Sometimes heiresses go,off with tall footmen, and why not 
with a middle-sized pot-boy ? But such is life ! Pot-boys 
don't go off so well as they did ; the servant-girls looks 
arter the police now — them areas is the ruin of the force, 
and the cold meat's their destruction. Well, I've taken 
the favourite against the field, and if the favourite don't 
turn up trumps, I shall be very much against the field, 
indeed ! Beer, oh ! 

Enter Binks, l. h. 

Well, 242, h©w do you bring it in % 

Binh. What's that to you ] [Crosses^ r. 

Cod. I'll tell you what it is to me — there's a certain 
young girl as crosses this square, morning and evening ; 
now I've got a certain eye in that quarter, and as I leave 
you all the run of the servant gals, which has been the pot- 
boy's right from time immemorial, I hopes you won't act 
ungrateful. 

Bink. What do you mean 1 

Cod. Why, if I catches your eye any more in that di- 
rection, the eye of the gallant and active officer, 242, is 
likely to be put to a little inconvenience. [Squares. 

Bink. Don't you threaten, ray lad, or else I may put 
you to a little inconvenience. Go on with your beer. 

Cod. And go on with your beat. I won't bring you out 
your half-pint when the house is closed, so you can save 
yourself the trouble of knocking. 

Bink. I've got an eye upon your house ; I advise you 
to look out for licensing day. Mind you're not found out. 

Cod. And I advise the proprietors of areas to look out 
for their cooks, and lock their coal-cellars. I take a chalk 
there, I believe. Go on a^ain. 



t 

18 THL BOTTLE. [AcT I. 

BinJc. Never mind, we shall see who's right, [A scream. 

Cod. There, you're wanted. 

BinJc. It ain't on my beat. \Exity l. 

Cod. The odds'll be in my favour yet, old feller ! I 
don't much like that eye of his being on our house, for 
there's a till there that I've looked upon as a sort of loan 
society ; and unless this favourite bisness turns up trumps, 
I'm afraid I sha'n't be able to return any instalments. But 
such is life. Beer, oh ! I must hope for the best ; and as 
a man that ain't married is a sort of Robinson Crusoe on 
a desolate Island, if a heiress don't turn up, I must be con- 
tent with Kitty Crump. That's what I call combining 
arithmetic with worldly policy. Beer, oh ! [Exit, l. 

Enfer Esther, r. 

Esth. I have at length eluded him. I was compelled to 
seek refuge in a shop, to avoid him. Why am I perse- 
cuted thus 1 for the last week he has followed me. I fear- 
ed to mention it to George. Heavens ! here again ! 

[Going ; is stopped by Houns/ow, R. 

Hou. So, I have you again, my sweet girl. Why do 
you avoid me thus ] 

Esth. Your attentions, sir, are unpleasant. My conduct 
to you must have sufficiently expressed my dislike. I be- 
seech you, leave me. 

Hou. My dear, 1 am a gentleman, and therefore — 

Est/i. Your actions are not those of one, or you would 
allow me to pursue my way unmolested. 

Hou. Am I then so terrible in appearance, that it causes 
you to behave thus ? Let me explain my intentions : you 
have fascinated me — I love you — I am rich, you (excuse 
me) are poor. 

Esth. And for that reason you insult me. You call 
yourself a gentleman — are your actions like one ? Let 
me pass. 

Hou. Not yet. Scold as you will, I have (whatever my 
qualifications may be) sufficient discernment to admire a 
pretty face when I see it. As [ said before, I am rich — 
can offer you a carriage, jewels, and — 

Esth. The name of wife 1 No, you would make me one 
of those who, too late repenting, untimely die neglected and 
forgotten. Go from me, sir ; humble and hard as my lot 



Scene III.] THE BOTTLE. . 19 

is, I prefer it to all the allurements of the gauds you offer 
— which dazzle but to betray. [Crosses, r. 

Hou. No, no, we don't part so. I don't think you can 
refuse me a kiss, at any rate, conscientiously. 

Est/i. I will again cry for help to those who will resent 
it. [Siruggliffg. 

Hou. Do so; but it is fortunate that there is no one by 
to resent it. [Endeavours to kiss he?'. George enters, turns 
lier suddenly ffom him, and stands i?i c, 

Geo. You are mistaken ; there is one who will not only 
do that, but, if necessary, punish. 

Esth. George ! 

Geor. Don't be alarmed ; 1 shall not suffer ray anger to 
get the better of my reason. Harkye, sir ! this young girl 
is betrothed to me, and though humble in circumstances, 
has no right to submit to insult ; but rather, as a woman, 
should l)e protected, even by those who are supposed to 
set the example to the humble classes as a pattern of con- 
duct, and invariably forget to do it. You rail at our be- 
haviour, but do you ever look upon your own ? Oh, no ; 
all that you and such as you do is just and proper; but 
what the hard-working artisan does is very bad indeed. 

Hou. I am decidedly getting the worst of this. Have 
you done 1 

Geor. I have — and shall merely content myself by add- 
ing, that having now found that she has a protector, you 
will probably be more guarded in your conduct, not only 
to her, but to others, lest you receive that punishment 
which you have deserved, but fortunately escaped. 

[Crosses. Exit ivith Esther, l. 

Hou. I've decidedly got the worst of this. 1 must find 
out who my young spark is. I will be even with him yet. 
I have persevered strongly for a whole week, and to no 
purpose, it appears. Well, the wine I drank at the tav- 
ern may have fired my blood, and carried me too far; I 
must now strive to obliterate the sting of my defeat. 

[Exit, L. 

Scene III. — Farlour at the *' High Mettled Racer.'* 

DoGNOSE, Richard,Tyke, and Meadows, at cards; others 
looking on. 
Dog, That's mine ! 



20 " THE BOTTLE. [ACT I. 

Tkor. Ill luck ! nothing but ill luck ! 

Dog. Come, another game ! Recollect to-morrow. 

Thor. Right. [Clock strikes twelve.] Do you hear that ? 

Dog. Well, twelve o'clock ; what of it 1 

[Comes down front. 

Thor. What of it 1 A world to me ! We have been 
here four hours. 

Dog. Well! 

Thor. I promised to return in an hour. " 

Dog. What of that? 

Thor. I'll tell you what of that ! I have done to-night 
what I never did in my life before — stayed away from my 
home ; I have kept her waiting, and watching; " listening 
" to every foot-fall, and I can see her disappt)intment as 
** plainly as if she now stood before me — 1 can see her 
" watching the hands of the clock, and the minutes, to her, 
** drag along so slowly, they seem hours ; she gazes upon 
" the light before her — to her, it burns more dimly than 
" ever she has noticed it before ; perhaps, for a moment, 
*' she feels overcome by sleep, but she wakes up, and sud- 
" denly again looks upon the hour;" she thinks of rest, 
but she feels that she cannot sleep — her thoughts are else- 
where — she's thinking of her husband, of the father of her 
children, and where is he ? Oh ! where ! 

[Goes up to tnhle, and falls in chair. 

Dog. Just ring the bell, will you. Cards is very excit- 
ing, and losing puts the nerves out of order. 

Enter Coddles, l. 

Cod. Now, then, if there's any further orders, you must 
give'em now, or else have 'em at the bar. 

Dog. Well, fill these measures again. 

Cod. Yes, but who's to pay ? You know he's parted 
with his last shilling. Master's lent him a pound — and — 

Dog. What are you talking about % do you think we 
can't pay % 

Tyke and Mead.^ Ay ! ay ! 

Cod. I see, you are the winners. My eye, if the fa- 
vourite against the field don't come off the winner, what'll 
become of me *? 

Thor. Who's that spoke about the last shilling ? 

Cod. Why, I did, merely because there happened to be 



,„, THE BOTTLE. 21 

Scene III.] 

a recruiting sergeant at the bar, ready for any active 
younrmen-nici interesting young men, they look hke, 
Lo-coloured, and very nice work they seem to execute 
among Turks- and other foreigners, if you may beheve the 

engravings. t i.- i 

Do^. Nice designs, I thmk. , , , , i, ,. 

Cod Very ' Traps for the youth that don't know what 
to do for himself; but I'm not to be taken in by your 
penny plain, and twopence coloured ; but sitch is^^^l.^^ 

Dog. Come, I say, rouse up; another game ! I don't 
like the idea of giving them the chance of gomg off wm- 
ners— think of to-morrow. i ^x- ^v,o 

Thor. I do, I do; but I think more of her, and of the 

^^^vlf. Bah ! it's only one in the way ; if there's a storm 
it'll soon blow over. Play again, and see if luck will 
turn. 

Thor. I have nothing left. 

Dog. Yes, there's your watch ; play, and go in lor all 

you know. 

Thor. I know too much. 

Enter Coddles, wWi leer. 

Cod. Now, the beer % [Dognose about to take it.] But 

first the money. 

Dog. You needn't be so fast— there's my ^^st.^^^^^ ^^ 

Co^. What a chance for the sergeant! 
Do^. Have a drink. [Hands Richard the fot\ Come, 
see 'em again ; 'tis our last hope, gents ; we-we re clean- 
ed out, but will play for this. \^hows watch. 
Tyke and Mead. As you like ! . 

\Dognose forces Richard m chair ; they play. 
Cod. Well, as I'm a bit of a sporting character, I must 
go in here. I'll take the odds against you. 

Tvhe. Done! , , , 

Cod. Half-a-crown to a shilling, and stakes down-- 
very near the last with me ; I shall have to go to that till 
again. \They flay?^ Ullo ! here's the sergeant turning out 
Tthe bar-parlouf.' Oh ! cri', and here's George, the sen- 
Lental gent who never calls for anything but half a pint 



22 THE BOTTLE. f Act I. 

of porter, and never by no means offers to treat you. — 
There's the swell, too — and ain't he been going it with 
the port-wine, neither ! 

Enter Gt-rxy , followed by Hounslow and Sergeant. 

Hon. That's my man. [Points to George, 

Cran. I understand — good figure, and just about the 
standard measure. Brandy-and-water here, [Cod. crossesy 
L.] very strong ! 

Cod. Very strong ! Oh yes ! we always makes it pre- 
cious strong after twelve ; but I suppose as it's for him, it 
must be pretty decent ; strong, I think you said ? [Exit, l. 

Gcor. [ Who has heen looking at Richard.] Richard, I 
have been watching you for the last few minutes, and with 
surprise ; you have no business here at this hour ; let me 
entreat you to go home. 

Dog. Let him alone; he must finish the game. 

Geor. Again, 1 say, he has no right to be here. 

Vog. Neither h^ve you. 

Geor. Nor should I have been, had I not learnt where 
7ie was ; it was the wish to serve ?n77i, as well as those 
about him, which induced me to come here. 

Dog. You're very virtuous, I dare say. He's (rule 
satisfied with the company he's in, ain't you, Richard.' 

Rich. Of course I am ; he wouldn't drink with me this 
evening, and you can't call that man your friend who 
won't drink with you. 

Vog. Oh ! no, of course not. This hand will decide it. 

Enter Coddles, wit/t brandy-and-water, l. 

Cod, The brandy-and-water 

Geor. Lost, unhappy man ! 

Hou. I beg your pardon ; we had some words together, 
this night, I had been drinking rather freely, and when 
the wine's in — you know the rest. I admire your con- 
duct, on behalf of your friend. I say, sup with us, merely 
to drown all animosity. 

Cran. A fine fellow like you ought to be in the army ; 
active young men, now, are sure to make considerable 
fortunes. I should say, for yo?i, a sergeant in two months, 
a lieutenant in four, captain in twelve. 

Cod. Or a dead man in one. Sitch is'life ! 



Scene 1 1 1. J 



THE BOTTI.F. 23 



Cran. Come, drink ; you'll not refuse an old soldier — 
one who has had the honour of being on the field of Wa- 
terloo, and of serving her Majesty upon many other me- 
morable occasions ? 

Geor. Well, I bear no malice; I will not refuse to 
drink. 

Cran. Stop ! a loyal toast : " Confusion to our enemies, 
and may the hour never arrive when they can rise up 
against us!' [George drinks. 

Cod, And here's " Success to all pot-boys ;" and if the 
hour grows much later, he'll not be able to rise at all. 

Thar. Lost! [Throics dbivn cards.] All gone ! lama 
beggar ! Fool ! villain ! 

Geor. All reasoning how with the past is useless ; let 
me entreat you to go home. 

T/wr. Home ! the drunkard has no home. I — I. havn't 
now a shilling in the world, nor a friend to give me one ; 
you can't [ To Dognose], you won't [To George] ; and those 
who gathered round me in my prosperity, won't know me 
now. 

Geor. Had I the means, I would convince you to the 
contrary ; but to-morrow — 

Hou. Now's your time — fortunate chance.. [To Crank. 

Cran. [Advances.] What ! it never shall be said that a 
man in my company wanted a shilling; take it, in the 
Queen's name. [Presses it info his hand.] f love the youth 
of Great Britain too well to insult them — Heaven bles8 
them ! 

Geor. Take it, Richard. 

Tfior. No, I won't ; let me go. I have lost all ; show 
me the way to that place which was once a home of joy, 
which now I have made wretched ; let me go, or 1 shall 
do somebody a mischief, for my heart's on fire, and my 
brain — Let me go ! [Staggers off, l. 

Geor. I will go with you. He is incapable of assisting 
himself. 

Cran. Stop ! Where shall I find you in the morning I 

Geor. For why ? 

Cran. Because you are the Queen's man — you are en- 
listed. 

Geor. \% 

Cran. Didn't you take the money ? your mistress now 
is Glorv. 



24 THE BOTTLE. 



[Act 



Hoa. I saw him give the money, which you accepted. 

Geor. Villain ! this is your work ; detain me at your 
peril.. [Rushes at Hounslow — Crank seizes him — Bus. clos- 
ed in. 

Scene IV. — A Street. 

Enter Spike, l. 

Spike. Up and stirring with the lark ; this is as it should 
be. Here, Tom Ex ! 

Enter Tom, l. 

Now, Tom, you keep your eye continually on No. 9, and 
go in with the milk — that is to say, when they open the 
door, which they're safe to do, to take in the milk, you in- 
troduce yourself — you understand 1 

To7n. Yes, sir. 

Spike. You ought to have been in 13, long ago. 

Tom. . Yes, sir, but No. 13's artful ; they look out o'the 
winder, and won't open the door. 

Spike. Did you try a postman's knock at a late hour 'i* 

Tom. Yes, and was hansered through the keyhole. 

Spike. Well, what came of the keyhole ? 

Tom. Why, they said if I had a letter, I must put it un- 
der the door. 

Spike. It's the most artful village I ever had dealings 
with ; they get into debt, and defy the law. Why, there's 
one man had the impudence to tell me he had received 
summonses enough to paper a room, and intended to do 
it. You must get up an accident at 13, watch the hus- 
band out, then tell them he's run over, or fell from a lad- 
der. We must get possession. 

Tom. Then I'll try No. 9 first. 

Spike. We shall astonish the neighbourhood to-day — 
four possessions and one seizure. How about No. 8 next 
street ? 

Tom. No. 8 died last night.* 

Spike. Well, he might have settled his accounts first, 
and expired with honesty and propriety. What did he 
die of] 

Tom. Why, his wife said the thought of an execution 
upon his goods broke his heart. 

Spike. Pooh ! an execution is just the sort of thing to 



Sck.vf: IV.] THE BOTTLE. 25 

makes a man lively, and exert himself. And, la ! how they 
do cry ! I shouldn't be surprised to hear, some day, of 
a large family getting up such an extensive flood of tears 
as to drown the broker. The fact is, poor people are a 
damned nuisance. Let me see — 8, 13, 14 — four posses- 
sions, one seizure. How about 6, next street ? 

Tom. No. 6, in the next street, disappeared in the mid- 
dle of the night. 

Sjnke. And cheated U3 of the levy ? Very well ! mind, 
when we make the next levy, we'll make up for the losses. 
There ^^g-oes the milk. [Looks off, r.J Now, away with you; 
secure No. 9, and I shall be happy. [Exit Tom, r.] I'll as- 
tonish the neighbourhood to-day. Let me see. 

[Looks at memorandum hook. 

Enter DoGNosE, l. 

Dog. Broad daylight, eh ! A nice night's work we've 
made of it. I've come off pretty tidy, but I've had hard 
work for it. Well, a silver watch is worth having. 

Spike. Hollo, no. 14, is that you 1 

Dop;. What of that? 

Spike. Death'll be busy among your ranks ; the sworn 
broker's amongst you. Why don't you act like a gentle- 
man, and let me put the man in 1 see how he's been wait- 
ing about in the cold ; you should have compassion. But 
I don't think, after all, 14, that you're such a bad man as 
you've been represented. Can't we come to some little 
arrano-ement about that silver watch 1 The brokers are 

o 

open to all, influenced by none. 

Dog. Maybe. 

Spike. Now, let me have it ; let it go off the rent, and 
appear in the eyes of'your neighbours with all that mag- 
nanimity which paying your way. inspires. Give me the 
watch, and keep open your street-door like a free man ; 
turn virtuous, and die a respected father. 

Dog. I can't, because I don't happen to be one. 

Spike. But you have the watch. 

Dog. And intend to keep it. 

Spike. You'll come to be hanged ; a man that don't pay 
his rent can never expect to prosper. No. 14, just, wait 
till I get in possession ; I don't wish to make myself un- 
pleasant. 



26 THE BOTTLE. [Act I. 

Dog. But when you meet wiih anything unpleasant, do 
as i do. 

Spike. What's that 1 

Dog. Avoid it. [Exit, l. 

Sjnhc. He'll decidedly come to be hanged. *' Only let 
^* me get my executions settled, and then I can go home 
" to breakfast comfortably." [Exit, R. 

Scene V. — TJie Same as Scene I. 

Tableau No. 2. — He is Discharged for Drunlcenness, 

Ruth, Child with hottle^ Richard in chair. 

Ruth. Ellen, [Giving frocJi^ this dress you will take 
to — (Oh! that it should come to this!) — to that shop; 
they will lend you money upon it. There's not a shilling 
in the house, and you, my poor children, must not go with- 
out your breakfast. 

Ellen. And the bottle, mother, which father bade me 
take — 

Thor. Must be filled ! it must ; if you raise money for 
one thing, you can for the other. 

Ruth. Go, child, go ; it's useless to reprove or argue 
now — go, child ; and you take your sister into the other 
room. [Exit Ellen, d. in f. Boy takes Sister off, l. — Ruth 
. falls in chair, and sohs. 

Thor. Ruth, is that you again 1 what are you crying 
for ? 

Ruth. Richard, how are we to live ? 

Thor. Live ! why, the same as we always did. 

Ruth. I cannot reason with you, for reason has fled its 
seat, and nothing but corrupt and hideous matters now 
find place in your bewildered brain. 

Thor. What is the time ? 

Ruth, The hour is considerably past. [Bitterly. 

Thor. Well, at any rate, I have returned — 

Ruth. To find your situation lost, your wife and family 
penniless. 

Thor. 'Tis false ! 

Ruth. It is too true ; all who were not there when the 
bell rang, were discharged ; one or two passed by this 
door, and mentioned your name derisively, as one who 



FceneV.] the bottle. 21 

would suffer with them. And, oh ! how, all the live-long 
night, have I alternately prayed and watched your coming, 
and as it faded away, and the first blush of morning beam- 
ed through the shutters, its faint and sickly light made me 
sadder still ; yet I watched on, until it became broad day. 
What then met my gaze % not the husband of former days, 
but one so degraded, that I almost blush to look upon him. 

Thor. Well, well, let it pass ; there's annoyance enough. 
Where's the bottle ] that's pleasant, and, in trouble, one's 
only friend. 

Ruth. Alas ! alas ! where shall we find friends now. 

iSohs. 

TJior. Go on, cry away ! make bad worse ; but where 
I go, there's none of this — no tears — all's life and jollity ; 
and when the glass goes round — Drink, drink ! why don't 
I have it ? 

Enter Esther, d. in f. 

Esth. Ruth, dearest Ruth, I scarcely know how to ad- 
dress you, but — - 

R.utli. Hush ! speak lower ; he is asleep, and sleep may 
prove beneficial. 

EiSth. I wanted to speak to him, for George, who w^s 
last night in his company, has not yet returned ; they 
were seen together at the public house. 

Riitli. Another! 

Estli. How wild you gaze, Ruth ! what has happened 1 
— no quarrel, I hope % No, that couldn't be, for he was 
ever a good man and a kind father. 

Ruth. Esther, the drunkard can never be either. You 
are yet young ; if George was there last night, shun him 
now, as you would a pestilence. When once the fatal love 
of drink seizes upon the mind, all that is good and pure 
f\ides beneath the one absorbing passion, as the chill and 
sudden frost will blight the early flower; go, and avoid 
him, or your home will be made desolate as mine. 

Eath. Your home % 

Rath. Yes, look there. [Points to Richard.] Bad advi- 
sers have helped him to this, but who will aid us now with 
friendly counsel ] Again, I warn you of George Gray ! 

Thor. [Rising.] Who wants to know about George 
Grav 1 I can tell you ; he — he has enhsted. 



28 THE BOTTLE. [Act T. 

Esth. Enlisted !~impossible ! 

Thor. Oh, no, it's true enough, and sergeant wouldn't 
let him go, neither. Come, wife, come; I'm getting all 
right again — let's have no more quarreling; I'll go and 
make it all right at the factory, and then we'll be as hap- 
py as ever. 

Ruth. No, Richard, our future happiness depends upon 
your renouncing — 

Enter Ellen, with hottle, d. in f. 

Thor. The bottle! well, I'll only take a glass- now and 
then ; but I want one now, to cheer me up. 

Entc?' Tom, with icarrant. 
What may you want, pray 1 
Tom. This paper will explain. 
Ruth. [Snatches it.] What is this ? 
Tom. An execution for rent. 
Thor. Who has done this ? 
Ruth. This — the bottle ! \^Tableau closed in. 

Scene Yl.—The Front Street. 
Enter Kitty and Coddles, r. 

Kitty. Here's nice goings on ; one would fancy we 
were living near the Old Bailey, the executions are so 
busy. W^ell, certainly I am surprised at the Thornleys, 
upright, straightforward people as they seemed to be ; 
but there's no telling anybody now-a-days, is there, Cod- 
dles % You don't seem to be particularly lively — I like 
to make people happy. 

Cod. No — such is life ! Kitty, there has been a sort 
of an affection sprung up between us. Have you invvest- 
ed money anyv/here 1 

Kitty. Well, 1 think that's a question which ought to 
come from me. What's he aiming at 1 I like to make 
everybody happy. I haven't ! 

Cdd. Thankye, you've quietly murdered me. 

Kitty. What, after I've expressed an affection for you, 
do you dare tell me that I've quietly murdered you ? 

Cod. That's all right enough ; we've all affections — 
some one way, some another ; before I saw you, I had 
placed my affections upon a till. 



Scene VII.] THE BOTTLE. 29 

Kitty. And who was she % 

Cod. It ain't a she at all — it's a sort of what-to-avoid 
kind o' thing, but I couldn't; whenever I've had a go at 
the field, I've always tilled it, and it's likely to prove very 
karroicing to my feelings. 

Kitty. What do you mean 1 

Cod. Embrace me ! 

Kitty. Do what ? 

Cod. Embrace me, being positively the last appearance 
of Mr. Coddles in that character. 

Kitty. I can't understand you. 

Cod. Well, say nothing to Binks ; stick to your shoe- 
binding, and prosper. 

Kitty. But where are you going] 

Cod. I don't know. Remember, I always did the 
friendly thing with the half-quarterns ; and when you're 
indulging in that liquid, perhaps you'll think of Coddles. 
Binks, the officer, is handy. 

Kitty. Ah ! you're a iceak-mmAeA man. 

Cod. Well, I may be iveak, and for that reason, I leave 
you to the force. [Exit, l. 

Kitty. Well, anything in the shape of a man is better 
than none at all ; but for the present, Kitty, your visions 
of matrimony are all knocked on the head. Nevermind, 
if I can't be happy myself, I'll go and enjoy myself with 
the miseries of others. I have not lost much in Mr. Cod- 
dles, for he had nothing — take nothing from nothing, and 
nothing remains. Binks has a pound a week, and that's 
consoling. [Exit, r. 

Scene Vll. — Same as Scene I. 

Tableau No. 3. — " An Execution siveeps off the greater 
portion of their Furniture'^ 

Spike, Tom, Man, Thornley, 5?}?^^w^y><9w ^Z«55. Ruth, 
Children. 

Ruth. Take this away, girl ; already it's intoxicating 
influence stupifies ; another glass will sink the man to a 
level with the brute. 

[Gives bottle to Ellen, ivho takes it hack. 

Spike. [Reading.] Let's see ! chest of drawers, eight-day 
clocks table, mattrass, bed, bedstead, small ditto. 



30 THE BOTTLE. [Act I. 

Ruth. You will, perhaps, for the poor children's sake, 
leave me the little bedstead, will you not 1 

Spike. Nonsense! there's nothing obliging in law ; this 
is the way mothers spoil their children — too much indul- 
gence ; let 'em sleep on the floor — make 'em hardy. — 
[Reads.] Large Family Bible, tea caddy — no real plate, 1 
tliink — no, oiily delph — hearth-rug, and picture of village 
church. Umph ! not a Claude or a Reubens — no rising 
artist — juvenile effort — sell for a shilling. 

Ruth. I must beg of you not to take that ; it is the pic- 
ture of the village church where I worshipped as a girl, 
that saw me wedded in my womanhood ; there are a thou- 
sand dear recollections connected with it, humble though 
they be. There was a meadow close by, over whose 
green turf I have often wandered, and spent many happy 
hours, when a laughing, merry child ; and dearer far is it 
to me, for beneath a rude mound in that sad resting-place, 
poor father and mother lie. You won't refuse me the pic- 
ture % 

Spike. Well, it ain't worth much, certainly ; but you 
women are such rum'uns, you are. You wouldn't believe 
it, but one woman begged and 'prayed for a set of fire- 
irons, and because I wouldn't let her have 'em, positively 
fainted. Such funny fancies ! One — let's see — I think 
we've got all — yes — nice healthy seizure this — no rows — 
not too many tears. This is what I like — it makes things 
go off" so pleasant. Is the cart ready ] 

To7n. 'All right, sir. 

Spike. Now, we'll go to No. 13. 

Thar. Stop ! you don't go yet ; T heard my wife ask for 
a small trifle, which you didn't choose to give her; now, 
I've a fancy for that, myself, and I'll see thee damned be- 
fore you lay a finger on it. [Snatches jjicture from Spike. 

Spike. [Retreating.] Ullo ! here, I say, young feller, 
let's have peace and quietness — no damned nonsense. — 
Come, let's have it back. 

Thor. Touch it, and I'll brain you. 

[Raises picture to strike him, ivhen Mr. Moreworth 
enters, d. in f. Thornley drops picture, and stands 
abashed. 
Mr. Moreworth ! 

More. Yes, unhappy man ; " I can feel no pity for you. 



Scene I.] 



THE BOTTLE. ^1 



*' To-moiTOvv, you would be without a meal ; and I hare 
" come to render you assistance." Take this. [Gives pu7'se.] 
A family should not be made to suffer for the bad conduct 
of one undeserving the name of father. 

\Rutk kisses his hand ; Richard sinks into a chair. 



END OF FIRST ACT. 



ACT 11. 

A lapse of three years takes place. 

Scene I. — A street, 'Public-house^ l., adjoining a Church- 
yard. 

Plate IV. Realised. — " He still supplies the bottle." 

Ruth. And is it thus you employ the means of benevo- 
lence ] Richard, reflect. 

Rich. Reflect ! I can't — I darn't ; there is no comfort 
left me now in my sorrow, but this. 

[Putting hottle into pocket. 

Ruth. Oh, heaven ! that ever my children should come 
to this : " I thought to have seen them clinging around 
" our hearth, when age had peacefully stolen upon us, and 
*' that they, thriving in the world, would serve to brighten 
" it ; but all now has faded." The prospect, once so joy- 
ous, has grown dim and dark, and we may read our fate 
in the once green leaves that now fall seared and yellow 
from the tree. 

Rich. Ah ! you always look on the wrong side of things 
— always did. I offer you that which would cheer you — 
it always drives away the blues — but I can't persuade you. 
Oh, no ! you might be happy, but you won't. 

Ruth. Happy ! look there. [Points to children.] " Go 
" back to the days when industry brought content, and 
" every face in our humble dwelling wore a smile, — for 
" love and esteem were deeply implanted in the hearts of 
" its inmates ; and so years rolled on, and then came, like 
" the mildew on the corn, the fatal drink. Slowly, but 
" surely, was its progress : the man from whose lips a 



32 THE BOTTLE. [Act II. 

" cross word had never fallen, grew angry and excited — 
" the children, whose caresses ever met with smiles, re- 
" ceived harsh treatment, and at length blows, and the 
" broken-hearted wife neglect. So, steeped in poverty, 
" the home became a wreck, and the streets at length 
" their refuge.'' Happy ! look at the boy who clung to 
your knee, the girl who fondled you, and the mother v/ho 
reared them — and read an answer in their rags. 

Rich. [Soothingly.] Now, what have I done ] 

Rvth. [Pointing.] Look. 

Rich. I can't stand this, and I won't; if we are in 
trouble, things may mend, and you should strive to think 
so. Instead of trying to console one, you try by every 
means to add to our miseries ; but I have a friend here, 
who defies all the ill-usage in the world, that's one com- 
fort. 

Ruth. For a time, Richard, it may ; but the day will 
come when the charm will be destroyed. Its career is 
marked by sickness and death — early death. The fevered, 
lip and the pallid cheek already proclaim its influence; 
and oh ! when fhe fatal hour arrives, what will become of 
me, and these poor wretched children ? If your heart be 
not deadened to remorse, think, oh ! think of them, help- 
less, friendless, alone ! » 

Rich. Well, I have thought. The girl, she's comely, 
and can go into servitude ; and as for the boy, why my old 
pal, Dognose, he's bringing him up to a profitable business. 

Riith. " Servitude for her ] she is too young for servi- 
tude, Richard ;" but for the boy, I must learn the nature 
of the employment he has to offer : coming from such 
hands as his, it can be of little good, and I will not have 
him made the companion of a dishonest man. 

Rich. Gro on — crush every effort I make to better our 
condition, do. What is it to you, so that he earns 
money ? 

Ruth. Nothing, so that it be earned honestly. 

Rich. And why should you doubt ? 

Ruth. Have I not cause to doubt the actions of a man 
who first led you by his pernicious counsels to this fell 
misery] Look at his companions ! who are they? — men 
shunned and avoided. Richard, as yet we are unstained 
by guilt ; add but that, and our ruin is complete. 



Scene I.J TlIK BOTTLE. 33 

Rich. You talk of others ; what are we ? Can we mix 
with the fine-dressed, or your honest people ? You rail 
at this life, and check every effort to improve it ; but my 
mind's made up, and nothing you can say will alter it. 

Ellen and Joe. Father ! mother ! we are hungry. 

Ruth. Yes, yes, you have some money. 

Rich. No, I have none ; 'tij spent — gone — 

Ruth. Great Heaven ! and that which the hand of 
charity bestow^ed, has gone to the accursed monster Drink! 
Oh ! but for my children, would I were laid in the cold, 
still grave. [ Weeps. 

Rich. Harkye — if they want food, let them beg for it. 

Ruth. Richard, with that word you have withered 
every liope — all, all is fled, and your only love is there. 
Oh, heaven ! what will become of us-1 

[Leans against house for support. 

Enter Spike, r. 

Ellen and Joe. Charity, charity i we are hungiy. 

Rich. Yes — for one who has seen better days. 

Spike. Charity, pooh ! " Charity from me, when 
" there's workhouses and refuges, and I don't know how 
" many other benevolent institutions, for such as you. 
*' AVhat an ungTateful set poor peoj^le are ! The nation 
*' builds palaces for them, and washes them, and then they 
" won't go. No ! they prefer going past and grinning at 
" 'em." Go and apply at the workhouse, — and break 
stone§ — and think how comfortable you'll feel when you 
reflect how many rich and great people — ay ! even nobil- 
ity — are constantly passing over the efforts of your in- 
dustiy. 

Rich. That voice ! oh, it's you, is it 1 I thought that 
we had met before. I know you. 

Spike. Know me ! I've no acquaintance in your style, 
I assure you ; and don't know me too much, or else per- 
haps you will have to know a policeman ! 

Rich. Of course ; to gaol with the beggar ; spurn him, 
crush him, avoid him as you would a reptile — anything 
to get rid of him. Some years since you wouldn't have 
so spoken — you wouldn't have dared. 

Spike. You must have been a very different kind of 
man then. 



34 THE BOTTLE. [Act II. 

Rich. I was, indeed ; but don't rake up the past — ^it 
lays too heavy on the bram — don't, it might madden. 
Well, one false step brought misery to me and mine ; that 
misery you completed. 

Spike. Me, my good man ? your'e mistaken ; the little 
bits of friendly things I do in the shape of seizures, are 
always executed by me in a legal, benevolent manner. I 
meet with a few tears now and then, to be sure, when all 
the goods are going ; but I give them a patronizing look, 
and tell 'em to brush up and be plucky. Completing 
misery, indeed ! Come, I like that. 

Rich. I say completed it, for you swept away all, and 
left me bare walls. That was the deepest blow, and I 
never got over it. I thought and thought, and grew sick 
at heart, and fancy was busy with me, and I drank to 
drown care, and the spirit of industry fled from me. Well, 
I am Richard Thoi-nley. 

Sjjike. Bless me ! dear, dear ! the fine moral man of 
former days, and the virtuous father become — 

Rich. What you see — now not ashamed to ask charity 
of the passer-by. Come, you knew me once; help me, 
for the memory of old days. 

Ruth. If not — for — for my children's sake ! 

Spike. I don't know how it is, but poor people will 
have children ; that, to me, is one of the mysteries of 
London. But I say, these sports and pastimes of the peo- 
ple of Enc^land, this beG^sfinsf business, is dan«-erous. The 
police have strict injunctions, and the Mendicity are all 
alive, oh ! 

Ricli. Well, that's my affair. I ask for aid ; give some- 
thing, if it's only a trifle. 

Spike. That's exactly what they say, when I've got a 
little friendly seize : you won't take such a trifle, and this 
is but a trifle, and so on ; but these trifles mount up. I'll 
tell you what I must" do, I must give you an out-door 
ticket : soup always ready — blankets in winter — coals — 
sometimes money, perhaps. Call on me. 

Ruth. Something new, for their sakes; think if a like 
calamity crept into your happy home, and made it deso- 
late, what would be your feelings. Think of this help- 
less little one, whose wasted arms enfold me — starving 
and cold — think, and pity. 



Scene I.J THE BOTTLE. 35 

Spike. I do believe that women were expressly invent- 
ed for the annoyance of men of "business, and brokers in 
particular ; as for children, they're the scarlet runners of 
human life, and they spring up as fast. You don't con- 
tract any rent now, I hope 1 \ Richard sighs.] No, of course 
not. Prudent, too — nothing like honesty— die rather than 
deceive a landlord, or annoy a broker; the streets and 
magnanimity — hospitality and the workhouse. [Feeling in 
his pockets.] There ! I've dodged up a little fourpenny for 
you ! 

Rich. Thankye ! should you be passing yonder, at Ivy- 
buildings, we just lodge there ; and if you can help us, 
why — 

Spike. Ivy-buildings — I know, and a rare old plant it 
is — nothing green but the name, in that delightful locality. 
Boarded and bedded at a great reduction of prices, from 
the fourpenny wedded pair to the twopenny single man — 
the whole under the direction of Mrs. Wolfe — entire 
change of inhabitants each evening ; I know, and as I ex- 
pect shortly to make my first appearance there, I calcu- 
late upon a row in the Buildings. Well ! good day, go 
on and prosper. [Exit, l. 

Rich. Little enough, but it will answer the purpose. 

[ Going. 

Ruth. Whither are you going 1 

Rich. To drown care — to kill that which I feel gnawing 
at my heart — to drive that from me which fires my brain, 
and makes it beat so madly, I go to fill the bottle. 

Ruth. The children, Richard, the children ! 

Rich. I care not, the bottle must be filled. 
[Throws her from him, and rushes into the public-house, 

Ruth. Heaven, help me ! Heaven help me ! 

[Leans for support against doorway, 

Enter Kitty, l. 

Kitty. La! bless me! how strange it is, that we can 
serve other people, and not ourselves ; as for me, I'm to- 
tally neglected. Dear, dear ! how that pound a week of 
Blinks' does haunt me ! 

Jot 4' EUen. Mother ! mother ! [Crowding round her. 

Kitty. Heyday ! why if that isn't the very party I was 
in search of! Ruth, Ruth ; come, what ails you % Rouse 
up, as a good woman; I've such good news for you ! 



36 THE BOTTLE. [AcT H 

Ruth. I am afraid all good news for me will come too 
late. I have borne much, but 'tis over now, and I feel 
my heart is broken. 

Kitty. Oh, nonsense ! I've heard of a party in the next 
street who wants assistance, and can give you some nee- 
dle-work ; look, here's the address. [Gives card.] Now, go 
to her to-day ; you don't know what it may lead to. 

Ruth. You are very kind, but I have scarcely any spi- 
rits to undertake it ; 1 feel now so forlorn and dejected, 
that every effort to restore me to myself seems vain. 

Kitty. Yes, but you must rally, for your children's sake. 

RiitJi. For them — oh ! yes, you are right, for their sakes 
I will, I must. Deadened as every feeling is now within 
me, I must not forget that I am a mother, and that it is a 
sacred duty to protect them to the last. 

Kitty. And your husband, he — 

Ruth. \ Sighs and jjoinfs.] There I 

Kitty. The wretch ! oh, these husbands ! Well, if I 
had a man, I should like to have a gingerbread one, 'cause 
I could first play with, and then eat him afterwards. Oh, 
if, foolishly entertaining the thoughts of " persons about 
to marry," the pound a-week was to serve me so — oh! 
his face and eyes ! I like to make everybody happy. But 
come, come, no more tears; do as I wish, "and all may go 
well. You may again have the little joint on Sundays, 
and the comfortable family pudding. 

Ruth. Well, well, I'll try; it is for this poor thing, and 
these helpless ones, that I shall pray to heaven to support 
me in my task. No drudgery, however menial, I would 
not cheerfully undertake for them, and them alone, for it 
would soothe my last bitter moments, to know and feel 
that I had done my duty to them as a mother. 

Kitty. The recommending of this needlework has given 
me such a stitch, that — Oh ! I like to make every body 
happy. [Cries. 

Ruth. Don't give way to regret on my account; your 
words have inspired me with hope, and I feel better now, 
and stronger than I have done many a day. 

Kitty. That's well ; I do like to make everybody happy ; 
and let us hope, too, that your husband may reform. 

Ruth. Girl, a confirmed drunkard never reforms. 

Kitty. Ah ! well, well, perhaps it would be betler to 



ScsNEl.] THE BOTTLE. 37 

leave him where he is. Come, leave this place. 'Tis a 
very cold and biting day ; you all seem chilly, and I'll 
take you to a place where they sell the most delightful — 
[Ruth sliu(ld€rs.\ Well, well, I forgot; however, I'll walk 
with you ; there's no pride in me : 1 like to make every- 
body happy. Come along. \Going. 

Enter Dognose, very shahhy^ r. 

Dogs So, the very party I've been in search of! I thought 
I should light upon you somewhere. Joe, I want you. 

Ruth. Want the boy? [Ciingmg to him. 

Dog. Yes, I've got a move a-foot, that'll change all our 
fortunes ; we'll soon set aside those rags. This it is to 
have a brain. 

Ruth. But how % how % 

Dog. You'll excuse me, but I know women too well to 
trust 'em ; this is a little private affair, that can't interest 
any but those concerned. It's a rare good thing, so let 
that satisfy you. 

Ruth. It does not; and if it be so good, and you really 
mean to serve us, why conceal its nature ] 

Dog. That's our affair altogether. Where's Dick % 

Ruth. Again, I ask you, what want you with the boy % 

Dog. And again I say, I can't tell. Where's the father, 
boy? 

Joe. There. 

Dog. Of course — I need not ask. Here, Dick, Dick ! 

\^Enters house. 

Kitty. Come, it's no use stopping here ; let them go 
and sot together ; you look after yourself — you'll get no 
good out of them. 

Ruth. No, but I must know about him. What can he 
want 1 he is a bad man, and has ever held my husband in 
his toils, and I cannot go until I have learned. 

Re-e/iterDoGNOSE, Jbllou'cd hy Kic a av^b, greatly intoxi- 
cated. 

Dog. You see, I point out a clear way of making money, 
and who can object to it 1 You don't — no ; for you see 
yourself once again settled, and the little bits of sticks 
about you, and then once more you can hold the world 
but as the world, and so defy it. 

D 



38 THE BOTTLE, [Act II. 

RicJi. Of course, of course ; do as you like, I know 
you wish to serve us all. 

Dog. There, it's all settled. Don't be under any alarm ; 
I'm going to take him in hand a little while ; I've got a 
sort of errand boy's place for him, where he'll soon be 
well fed and clothed. 

Ruth. Where is this place 1 I claim a mother's right 
to know, and I must and will, before I part with him. 

[Holds him. 
Dog. Will you be fed, or will you linger up and down 
the streets, cold and starving 1 

Ned. No, I've had enough of that — I'll go with you. 

[Runs from Ruth to Dognose. 
Dog. Come, boy — a fortune, and speedy ! 
Ruth. You shall not take him from me — you shall not 
— I'll die first. 
Rich. Die, then ! 

[Music. Throws her off; she screams and falls. Rich- 
ard staggers against the shop. Dognose, ivith a 
laughy darts off with the hoy. 

Enter Mob, running r. and l., attracted by the screamy fol- 
lowed by BiNKS. 

Scene II. — A Street. 
Enter Coddles, ivifh a Fenny-pie Stall, l. 

Cod. Here ye are — penny pies, all hot — veal, kidney, 
or fruit; fine juicy confectionery, all hot. No bidders! 
such is life ! Talk of the romances of real life, here you 
have it in Coddles ; Coddles, who has gone through a 
great deal, and is likely to go through a great deal more. 
Every thing's going to the dogs, and they do say that a 
good many of them animals come to me, but that's impe- 
rance ; the real sonnamberlists, the cats, is set down as go- 
ing the same journey likewise, which is neither moral nor 
proper. I think I shall retire from the meat line, and 
stick to the fruit : then they cannot make any remark — 
but I shouldn't care so much, if I could only sell them. — 
It's innovation that's ruined this business — the free trade, 
the unlimited baked potatoe, and everlasting ham sand- 
wich ! And what's been the' ruin of me 1 Coddles, re- 



^CENE II.] 



THE BOTTLE. 33 



fleet : — betting, I believe, morally — till, I consider, pro- 
perly ; beer, I think, generally. As the beer has been to 
the betting, so has the till been to the pot-boy's destruction. 
Well, the betting business is as strong as ever, and that 
induced me to take to the pie line. I do a little on the 
quiet with the boys, in the juicy meat and fancy confec- 
tionery. Well, when things come to the worst, they say, 
they generally mend ; as for mending, I'm mended all 
over. [Shoivs dress torn.\ Ah ! well, such is life. Now to 
look how my book stands. [Takes one out.] 'Tan't exactly 
a betting-book, but a sort of inweigler of the youthful 
branches. I do a little in the credit line. They say, trust 
not in woman ; that's true, if there's a policeman in the 
case, or any millingtary ; but, I say, trust not in boys, for 
I think they take a delight in doing the pie-man. 

[ Looking over book. 

Enter George Gray, dressed as a Corporal, r. 

Geor. How familiar all around is to me, and how many 
happy thoughts have been awakened as I passed by each 
well-known spot; but as yet I have seen no well-loved 
faces, met no old friends — for strangers dwell where I was 
ever a welcome guest. I thought, too, the old factory 
looked more black and grim than ever, and 1 saw none of 
my old industrious associates. To be sure, I have been 
some years away; many may have passed to their last 
home. Then I thought of her — what can have become of 
her 1 I have gone through a great deal, and what may 
not she have suffered ] 1 must obtain some information, 
for I cannot bear this suspense. Perhaps this man — 
Hallo ! pie-man ! 

Cod. That's me. All hot, all hot — veal or kidney — 
juicy meat and fancy confectionery. All hot, all hot ! 

Geor. Do you live about here % 

Cod. Why, I can't say I live, but I go about here. 

Geor. I want to ask you one or two questions, which 
you probably can answer. How goes on the factory ? 

Cod. Why, it don't go on at all ; it's gone off — not like 
my pies, they always remain on hand. Take a kidney — 

Geor. What do you mean ] 

Cod. Why, the old man's done — what I intend to do 
directly — retired from business. 



40 THE BOTTLE. [Act I 

Geo7\ And the factory men ] 

Cod. Oh, they're all scattered here and there ; some are 
getting up in the world, and some poor fellows are down. 

[Points. 

Gear. You remember, then, Thornley amd Johnson ? 

Cod. Thornley ! Oh, don't I ! — don't everybody ! If 
the pie-man were as well known and remembered as he, 
what a flourishing trade he would drive. They call him 
the publicans' friend, and he's supported them so much, 
that he now needs support himself 

Geor. I feared this. Beggary, eh ] 

Cod. Beggary — rags. Ah! out of the whole lot of that 
factory, there were very few who turned out good for 
much. There was one exception — G-eorge Gray. 

Geor. Ah ! you knew him 1 

Cod. Knew him ! I believe you ; I was pot-boy and 
waiter at the " High Mettled Racer," the very night he 
was hocussed. 

Geor. Whati 

Cod. Yes, hocussed ; and through a little bit of spite, 
and for a little bit of money, they managed to get him en- 
listed. 

Geor. You are a villain ! [Seizes him. 

Cod. No, I'm a pie-man. Hallo ! what's this for 1 

Geor. I'll tell you : I am that Greorge Gray, who has 
been banished, by foul means, for many a long year, from 
my own home, from those I loved. You assisted in this 
foul act : dare you — can you look me in the face % 

Cod. Yes, because I had no hand in it ; it was a mix-up 
between that swell and the sergeant, "one of the propric- 
" tors of those highly-coloured engravings, where a gen- 
'' tleman on horseback, quite pleasant and smiling, is kil- 
" ling every one about him, like one o'clock." It was 
their doing, not mine. 

Geor. If I could believe you — 

Cod. That's what I want — not only you, but everybo- 
dy ; they won't believe in my pies. You can do me a 
service — try one, and if you meet anybody, recommend — 
*' one trial is all we ask." 

Geor. Well, be it as it may, let it pass : I am anxious 
©nly about the present. Tell me, there was a girl — one 
Esther Clare — 1 would know something of her. 



Scene II.] THE BOTTLE. ' 41 

Cod. Try a mutton. [Offers pie; George turns from 1 dm \ 
No ! Well, as for her, she cried a good deal when you 
v/eut away; I think there was a little simmering of love, 
like my pies in the oven, when the heat moves the upper 
crust, eh % 

Gcur. Go on, go on. 

Cod. Well, since then — 

Gcor. Yes, — [Eagerly.] since then — 

Cod. She has struggled on, and held life and soul toge- 
ther,, by working hard and fast at the needle. It's a very 
small instrument, that, but it's astonishing how fine and 
gay it makes folks. "I have often thought whether any 
" of these grand people have an idea how many long, long 
" hours are consumed, and how many sleepless nights have 
" been past and spent, about the finery they wear. Oh, 
*' no ! they've got it, and they never bestow a thought upon 
" the maker." I am out very late, and when I have re- 
turned from my last round, I've seen the light in her win- 
dow, and her shadow there, working away, night after 
night, and at an hour when everybody who had a bed had 
gone to it ; and then I have said (that is, if I had sold all 
the pies): "Heaven bless you! — industry must thrive." 
But if I hadn't sold all the pies — 

Gcor. Well, if you hadn't — yes, yes — 

God. Why, then, I used to say, "It's d — d hard; here 
am I, there is she ; her fingers work, so do my legs :" " and 
"then 1 have thought, what a pity candles wasn't senti- 
" mental, or else they'd say somethin'g." 

Geor. You — you can direct me — 

Cod, Direct you — I'll show you — 

Geor. Do, do ; go and get yourself something to drink, 
and then — [Offers money. 

Cod. Queen's man, eh ! Oh ! you don't do the pieman 
that way. 

Geor. I don't want to enlist you. 

Cod. Oh, then, give me the money, " if yon like, but 
"not for drink. I've been in the business once, and I'm 
" afraid. Many and many a good fellow I've seen drop 
" off, through that same drink. First they'd come only 
" once a day, then two or three times, at last whole days ; 
"and then came the crying wives, the ragged children, 
"and the man, who uaed to go neat and tidy, got shabbier 



42 THE BOTTLE. 



[Act II. 



" and shabbier ; and although (turning a deaf ear to the 
" prayers of wife and children,) he has been turned into 
*' the streets, the next morning he has turned in again with 
*' the opening of the doors ; all at once he has been missed 
" — gone to some other house, perhaps ; he has, his last — 
" found dead in the streets. I have seen many an honest, 
" industrious chap, clever at his business, led away like 
" this. Drink's the beginning, and the undertaker is the 
"finish ; so I reflected, and said, if I must spend money, 
** I'll do it another way." I dar'n't enter a public house ; 
the sight of a till would — La ! bless me, I — well, I'll 
show you the way. Money, if you like, but no drink. 

Geor. Here — [Gives money,\ — now, quick, for I'm all 
anxiety. 

Cod. [TaJiing it.] A whole half-crown ! Pies, perhnps, 
won't be out to-morrow ; pies will probably see what's 
to be done in the betting way, and a shilling sweep is 
likely to come off, and a sixpenny Gravesend probable. 

Geor. This way, did you say 1 

Cod. First to your left. How a man feels when he has 
money in his pocket ! You won't try a mutton, will you 1 
because to-morrow the juicy confectionary establishment 
will be closed. Last serenade — pies, all hot — this way. 
[George exits, followed by Coddles, l. 

Scene HI.— -^ neat hut plain Apartment. — The Picture 
of the Village CJmrchyard, as in Act J, Scene 7, hang- 
ing up. 

Enter Esther, [2d dress,) seiving. 

Esther. This is weary work, hardly earned, badly paid, 
and wearily goes the time when there are none by to so- 
lace, to console. Poor George ! I often think of him, and 
wonder if he ever bestows a thought upon her he once 
professed to love. Well, if he has forgotten me, I hope 
he may be happy. If he selects another, he will never 
get one to love him more fondly and truly than I did — • 
never. [Pausing in her icork.] But I must hasten on with 
my work. Weeks and weeks I have scarcely had any, 
and now it comes all at once — more than I can get through, 
and am now compelled to send for assistance. Work, 
work, work, and yet of no avail ; it will not clear away 



SC£NElII.]-» THE BOTTLE. 43 

the poverty by which I am surrounded. The dreadful 
threat of the few things I have got together being taken 
from me, the fear of being thrust forth homeless, checks 
every zealous intention, defies all industrial efforts. Well, 
well, I must try — still struggle on, still struggle on. [She 
continues her ivork. A low gentle tap at the door.] The 
landlady, perhaps 1 I must go and quiet her. 

[Exit, R. n. 
D. in F. opens. Enter Ruth, timidly. 

Ruth. 1 beg pardon, but I believe — no one here? 
This is the direction — yes. [Looking at card.] I hope 
they will not be long, for I left my poor child, sickly and 
ill. I fear — great powers! [looking round the roojn\ what 
is here ? [Sees 2)icture.] That picture ! Years have passed, 
away since I gazed upon it, and the old, old scenes of joy 
and happiness, come back to me. Again I am wandering 
over the green turf — again I meet the companions of early 
days — again I see the old village church — the days that 
are past spring up again in all their brightness ; but I do 
not meet him who led me there ! — no — no — no ! Why 
does it hang there, as if to remind me of the past, to tell 

me what I might have been 1 Why, why 

[Staggei's to chair, and weeps. 

Re-enter Esther, r. h. 

Esther. For the present I have quieted her. [Ruth 
sobs.\ What's this ? A female here, and ill ! 

[Hastens to her. 

Ruth. I beg pardon, but I came to seek for work. I 
[Endeavouring to rise, falls hack into chair.] Oh ! 

Esther. You are very ill. [Assisting her.] That face ! 
surely I know it ; let me look once again. It cannot be ! 
and yet the likeness — Ruth ! 

Ruth. [Starts up.] Who is it mentioned that name? 
It seems to conjure up all the bright and happy hours 
that are past, that never, never will return. [ Wildly.] 
But I beg your pardon — I — I came to ask for work. 

Esther. Ruth! 

Ruth. Again ! I have heard that voice before ; I was 
sure of it ; I know it now ; let me look upon you ; say, 
have we not met before ? 

Esther. Yes, in far happier days. I knew you vvlien 



44 THE BOTTLE. " fAcT II. 

your home was joyful. Many years have passed since 
we have met, but I httle thought, when I asked for assist- 
ance, that I should meet with you. Ah ! Ruth, you are 
much changed. 

Ruth. I know — I know, all that you would say ; I had 
a home once. You know what that liome was. For 
myself I care nothing, but I have children ; and when I 
saw that picture, my heart warmed again, and seemed to 
whisper hope. You spoke of happier days — they are 
past. 

Esther. Dear, dear Ruth, do not speak thus ; you 
know not how orjad I am to find that we meet once ao-ain. 
\ never dreamt of seeing you agam. 

Ruth. Nor I, girl; I never dreamt that the storm of 
adversity would fall so dark and heavily upon me; but it 
has come, it has. But that picture % 

Esther. I bought it at a sale. I knew that it had once 
been yours, and the recollection of the hours, the bright 
ones we had passed together, induced me to become its 
purchaser ; I bought it for your sake. Oh ! Ruth, you 
know not how it glads me to be enabled to render you 
assistance. Here is some work, I can offer you. Ho-^v- 
vens ! how pale you look. 

Ruth. Yes, I am ill, very ill, and the support wLl •■ I 
require will not be needed long; and then poor, poo-r 
children, what will become of you ? 

Esther. Think for the best — take it. 

Ruth. Bless you ! bless you ! [ Takes it up. 

E?iter Spike d. i?i f. 

Spike. Stop, stop ; I beg your pardon, but this moving 
things off the premises ain't exactly what the law likes. 

Esther. What mean you 1 

Sjnke. Why, there's a little trifle of rent in airear, and 
every article becomes of value on such occasions, and if 
we do a little bit of seizure, it seems we shan't have much 
to caiTy. 

Enter Mrs. Wolfe, r. h. 

Mrs. TV. Now, Mr. Spike, how do you find things ? 

Spike. Good morning, ma'am ; things ain't quite so 
friendly as I could wish. When one segs little articles 
upon the go, I always think the thunderstorm's ready, 



Scene TII.J THE EOTTLE. 45 

that it's time for the broker to Umph ! you under- 
stand. 

Esther. If you alkide to the trifle which I am indebted 
to you, I am now in possession of plenty of work, and in 
the course of a week — 

Mrs. W. \Crosscs^ Q.\ Course of a fiddlestick ! Plenty 
of work, indeed ! there's no doubt of your getting it done, 
for it's going very fast. Money, marm, money ; that's 
what I want — that's what I will have. Why wasn't I 
told that you had plenty of work, as you term it, and that 
you intended to do the right thing ; but, oh no, such ladies 
as you must do as you like, and we poor landladies, of 
course, must suffer. 

Spike. And to neglect a home, too, and such a home — 
every comfort ! 

Mrs. W. And getting out of one's bed, too, at five and 
six, and all hours, to call you ; running a risk of securing 
a cold for life, or, which might give one one's death ; it's 
too bad, it's shameful ! 

Sqnke. It's worse — it's base ingratitude ; but you can't 
do anything for poor people ; they will turn round and 
sting you. Shall I put the man in ? 

Mrs. W. Yes; and you put those things down. [Crosses 
L. to Esther.] Nice acquaintances you bring to genteel 
lodging-houses; but you don't take that parcel with you, 
for all that. 

Spike. Oh ! no ; linen at sevenpence a yard, at least, is 
not to be thrown away in that manner. 

Esther. Speak as you will, she shall have it; she has 
endured bitter misery, almost starvation ; she is an old, an 
early, but a valued friend, and she shall not suffer longer, 
if I can prevent it. 

Mrs. TV. What, threatened ! Do you hear ] 

Spike. It's very fortunate that I just arrived in time. 

Mrs. TV. I can stand a good deal, but I can't stand this 
— insulted under my own roof I've come to something : 
however, this is the beginning and the end — can you pay 1 

Esther. I have already told you. Do as you please, 
harsh and cruel as your proceedings will be, I fear not but 
that the same Providence who has so long watched over 
me, will not desert me now. 

Rvth. And all this is through me ! Misery, misery, 



46 TKr. rOTTLE. [ACTIL 

wherever T go ; it has fallen heavily upon me. Why, oh ! 
why should I be doomed to bring it to others 1 

Mrs. W. I don't want no tears, because that perform- 
ance won't bring the money. 

Spike. Of course not; they always have the water- 
works ready in these cases. 111 just step across the street, 
and put a man in. 

Enter Kitty, d. in f. 

Kitty. Oh, Ruth ! Ruth ! I'm so glad T have found you. 

Mrs. W. More early friends, I suppose. We shall have 
the whole parish here, directly. 

Ruth. You are agitated — pale ; speak, speak ! 

Kitty. You're wanted at home immediately ; I cannot, 
I dare not tell you what for. I have been searching for 
you for two hours ; but, go, go — lose not a moment, or 
you may be too late. 

Ruth. Too late ! those words imply — It is death. 

Kitty. No, no ; let's hope for the best — go, go. 

B.utli. I see, I know ; it is death. Oh ! would to heaven 
it had come here ! \Iliishes out, d. in f. 

Kitty. And, now, who was it that said something about 
early friends, and the whole of the parish % I like to 
make everybody happy. 

Spike. Why, this lady observed — 

Kitty. Oh ! pray what brings you here ? 

Spike. What, me ] Oh, as for me, I'm going to put a 
man in. 

Enter George Gray, d, in f. 

Geor. No, you are not ; it is more likely that I'm going 
to put one out. What is your demand ? 

Mrs. W. Three pounds ten — a quarter's rent ; and, 
considering the accommodations, very cheap, too. 

Geor. I will pay it. 

All. You? 

Spike. I wish I had put the man in, 

Esther. This kindness from a stranger ! 

Geor. Stranger no longer. Have a few years so chang 
ed me, that you do not recognise me ? Esther, have you 
forgotten me ] 

Esther. Can it be 1 What ! George Gray 1 



Scene IV] THE BOTTLE. 47 

Geo7\ The same George Gray, that- ever said he loved 
you truly, and has now returned to prove it. 

Kitty. Hurrah ! And now, Mr. Spike, you may as 
well take yourself off the premises ; instead of a man 
comingc in, there's one to g-o out. 

Mrs. W. Lor' bless me ! Well, I do like to see people 
affectionate. Poor thing ! well, I always pitied her. 

Gcor. She, thank Heaven, will not longer have need of 
pity ; she has one who will protect her for the future, and. 
shield her from all harm. Go, and learn this lesson : do 
as you would be done by ; go, and repent. 

[iiZe embraces Iter, and leads Jier off ; Kitty exits, L., 
grinning. 

Spike. I say, Mrs. Wolf, I shall look to you for my fees, 
because, thinking to get a broker out without his fees, is 
all damned nonsense. [Exit, d. in f. 3Irs. Wolf, r. 

Scene IV. — A wretched Room. 
Tableau V.—" The Dead Childr 

Rich. Why do you take the glass from me ! 

Ruth. Look around. [Foints to coffn.] There is my an- 
swer. 

RicJi. I know ; but this is a time that one requires 
something. Taste a drop, Ruth. 

Ruth. Why offer me that which has been our bane and 
curse 1 It has done its work well; it has brought death 
at last. Would it had come to me ! 

Rich. I must have some — I will ; my dark thoughts are 
upon me again. If it was not for this, I'm sure I should 
go mad. 

Ruth. Don't taste it ; it has hurled you down to the 
direst poverty ; it has brought starvation — death ! Think 
what will be the end. 

Rich. It is too late to think ; my brain's on fire, so don't 
taunt me, don't, or I may do you a mischief. I must, I 
will have it ! [Drinks. A k?iocking.] Who's there 1 

Enter Dognose, d. i?i p. 

Dog. It's only me. I'm sorry to see this trouble, but 
what must be, must. Better times will come. 
Rich. To us — never! 



.48 TIIF, rOITLK. 



[Act If. 



Dog. Ob, yes, they will. Look here. \S7ioics mcm.ey. 
Rich. Ah ! where got you that 1 

Dog. Oh, never mind where it came from ; the sight 
of it does one's heart good, don't it ? I say, haven't I kept 
my word 1 

Rich. You have, you have. 

Dog. And the beauty of it is, there's plenty more of it 
to come from the same shop. I don't think your good 
lady will look quite so harshly upon me as she did, eh 1 

Rich. No, no ; and to come at such a time, too, when 
.we are penniless ! Look up, Ruth. Children — yourself 
— all without food. He — he has brought assistance. Let 
the boy go and get something. You won't object to this 
being filled, just ys it were to drink success to better 
times ] [Drawing ovt the hottle. 

Ruth. [Rising.] No, he shall not go ; nor with my sanc- 
tion shall this accursed poison ever enter here more. It 
has crushed and blighted every hope on earth, and now 
it bears grim Death in its progress. The children need 
food ; I will go for their sakes, but I will not move one 
step for that. [Points to hot tic. 

Dog. Well, well, just as you like; of the two, I'd rather 
that you would go. Here's a five-shilling piece ; now, 
get what you like. [Gives it. 

Ruth. Promise me one thing, that on my return I shall 
find you both here. 

Dog. Oh ! I'm not going to take him away. 

Ruth. There is another promise 1 would exact ; but no, 
alas ! it is too late. [Exit with Girl, d. in f. 

Dog. That's well done, if she can only manage to change 
it ; I think she will, for it is a prime counterfeit. I say, 
Ned, lad, how do you like the new game, and the new 
friends I've introduced you to, eh % 

Ned. Oh, well ! very well ! 

Dog. To be sure, and I've taken a fancy to you ; I've 
brought you a new jacket, new trousers, and a pair of 
boots. Take this, and try your luck with it. 

[Ned crosses, r. 

Rich. Stop, stop ! I've been thinking, and I don't ex- 
actly like — 

Dog. Nonsense, there are no other means ; besides, the 
bottle must be filled. 



Scene IV.] THE BOTTLE. 4^ 

Rich. Right, right ! and, over a glass, we'll talk about 
it. [Exit Ned. 

Dog. You see, out of evil comes good ; you never 
thought my brain would turn to such advantage, eh ? 

Rich. No, no ; but it would have been better if you had 
never thought of this. 

Dog. Bah! there's nothing to fear; and it's better to 
risk everything than starve. 

Thor. I don't know about that ; I've got some strange 
fancies about me, and it seems as if I heard a warning 
voice. 

Dog. Pooh ! where should a warning voice come from, 
I should like to know. 

Thar. From there. \Roints to coffin.^ Something seems 
to say. Repent, ere it be too late ! That word rings in 
my ears, and seems to grow louder and louder every mi- 
nute — now ! now ! Oh ! there is something in this. 

Dog. The something in this is, that you want the drink. 
The boy is slow ; a few minutes, and — [A hum of voices 
heard.] What's that? eh! Damn it, the boy is pursued! 
It's all up, then, if he makes for here. No, he avoids it. 
Good lad ! The mob follow — the police, too; will they 
take him ] A woman hastens to his rescue — it is — 

[" Stop thief .r' is heard, 

Thor. What cry is that I 

Dog. Nothing, nothing ; " sit still." 

Thor. If it be nothing, why do you turn so pale 1 

Dog. Another moment, and they will have him. 

Thor. H'm ! who 1 Stand from l^he door. What's 
this 1 The boy is running I [" Stop thief T'] Ha ! I see it 
all ! Wretch, you have destroyed him ! 

Dog. You musn't interfere, or you will ruin all. 

Thor. I will not see him dragged to gaol as a thief, if 
I can prevent it ; lost, degraded as I am, I have still some 
portion of the father left within me. Stand from the dooi ! 

Dog. You shan't pass. [ Throws him from door. 

Thor. Oil 1 for the strength of former days. I am en- 
feebled, helpless. The warning voice has not spoken in 
vain ; but, oh ! may my bitter curse — 

Dog. It is too late ; if you must curse, let it be upon the 
cause of all your miseries — the bottle. 

I Thornly sinks into chair. Closes in. 



30 THE BOTTLE. [AcT II. 

Scene V. — A Front Street. 
Enter Coddles and Kitty, l. 

Cod. Oh I don't talk to me ; go to your policeman. 
He'll be on his beat presently. It's no use 'sinivating with 
me. There's G-ravesend and shrimps in the distance, for 
me — oysters, perhaps — a policeman for you. 

Kitty. Don't you talk too fast, or else I shall really be 
compelled to comply with the anxious urgings of that active 
officer ; but you have been the means of bringing two lov- 
ing hearts together, and you don't go to the public-house 
so much, and I like you for that ; and I am glad to see 
that you have taken to a new line of business. 

Cod. Yes, but you have never bought any of the pies, 
and I do not like you for that. 

Kitty. Then, you know, I always had a partiality for you. 

Cod. Yes, and you show it by smiling at me, and walk- 
ing arm-in-arm with the policeman. 

Kitty. Well, that was only done because I like to make 
everybody happy. An old aunt of mine died lately. 

Cod. Not the old lady with the private property ? 

Kitty. The very same ; and I've been thinking, Sam, 
that a single life is very lonely. 

Cod. Yes, and cold of nights. 

Kitty. Marriage with loving hearts is pretty — a nice lit- 
tle business, now. 

Cod. Yes, pastry, for instance — juicy confectionary. 

Kitty. I can fancy myself behind the counter. 

Cod. And my hand in the till. Damn those counters ! 

Kitty. A thriving business. 

Cod. Yes, and thriving children ; but since you've start- 
ed the race, I want to know who is to come in the win- 
ner[? 

Kitty. Why, upon the promise of amendment, you — 

Cod. Me ! the sole proprietor of the little property ! the 
penny pieman is lost to the inhabitants forever. Boys, 
your halfpenny friend is gone, never to return. 

Kitty. Come, we'll talk it over as we go along. 

Cod. You may, under existing circumstances, take my 
arm. [Going, R.j Stop a bit; if it's all the same to you, 
we'll go down the next street. 



Sjf.neii.] the bottle. 61. 

Kitty. Whyl 

Cod. Because I notice a little bit of blue with white 
buttons, crossing the square. 

Kitty, Again, jealous of the policeman 1 
Cod. No J but it's as well never to give a chance away. 

[Exitf L. 

Scene VI. — The Room as before. 
Tableau VI. 

Ruth. Forbear, forbear ; what would you do 1 

Joe. You sha'n't hurt my mother ! 

Rich. What J would you rise up against me ] Recollect, 
I am your father. 

Ned. Ah ! ah ! a pretty father you've been. Look at 
me, and see what you've done for me. 

Mrs. G. Come, I say, good people, don't quarrel: 
waking one out of one's first sleep, it's shameflil. You've 
had warning to go, and the sooner you do so the better. 

[Exit D. in FLAT. 

Rich. This is all your doing — all. You've ever the 
bitter word upon your lip, ever taunting; I can't stand it, 
even from you, and I won't. 

Iluth. To-night, you have struck me a blow ; years 
back you would have abhorred yourself for such an act — 
an act you w^ould not then have dared to contemplate, but 
the career of misery is closing — thank heaven it is. 

Rich. Be silent — there is a dreadful feeling upon me — 
I am not the man of years back, and, as you say, I am 
changed. Knowing it, beware of me. 

Ruth. If it prove my last words, I must speak them : 
you have brought a deadly curse upon me and mine. 
But, oh ! I pray, beseech you, ere it be too late, repent ; 
for the day will come when you will need consolation — 
no friendly hand to gi'asp, and you will die regretting and 
alone. 

Rich. I won't hear another word ; be silent, or 

Enter Dognose hastily, d. in f. 

Dog. It's all up — away ! They hay« got scent of the 
boy — of her — and have traced ihexn to this house. 
Rich, What do yo.u mean ? 



52 THF BOTTLK. [Act II. 

Dog. The bad money ; you all will suffer — in plain 
words, she has betrayed us. 

Ruth. How could I do otherwise 1 I wanted bread for 
them, when the fraud was detected. I was innocent ; 
what could I do but tell the truth. 

Dog. And by so doing you have convicted your boy ; 
his future home will be a gaol. 

RiUh. No, no, no — not him — they will listen — will pity. 
*Tis you, and you only are guilty ; and 'tis you that shall 
ba given up to justice. 

Dog. They are entering the house. 

Ruth. You shall not go. If the innocent are to suffer, 
so shall you. Help ! help ! 

Dog. Take your hands off. Will you see this ] 

Tho7-. No — 'tis not he has brought this ruin ; your busy 
tongue has done all. Let him go 

Ned. Father ! father ! 

[As he is frantically dragging her from him, Dognose 
rushes out. Thornly seizes the bottle from mantel' 
piece. Closed in. 

Scene VII. — Another Room in the Garret. 

Enter Dognose, l. 

Dog. Perhaps in some of these rooms I may conceal 
myself till all is over, for I am well known in my trade, 
and I have quite enough upon me to convict me. These 
women, they spoil everything; however, let but this storm 
pass over, and I get clean away, I shull take the liberty of 
carrying on my performance in quite another part of the 
town. [Going. 

Enter Coddles, r. h. He seizes him. 

Cod. No, you don't ; I happen to have overheard all 
that you have said. How about that bad shilling I 
changed for the pies, eh 1 

Dog. Let me go, or J '11 do you a mischief. 

Cod. You can't do more than you have done; and as 
for hurting, cut away — I can stand it. Here, Mr. Binks; 
for the first time you are really wanted. [Enter Bixks, 
R. H.] There's the lot ; and a very bad lot it is, too. 

Dog. It's all up ; but I ain't done nothing. Come, 
Coddles, confess it is all a lark. 



Scene VIII.] 



THE BOTTLE. 63 



Cod. Ob, is it ? I hope you may find it so. You can 
try and persuade them to it at the Old Bailey ; eh, Mr. 
Binks % 

BinTis. Two bad pieces of money were passed to-night ; 
they have been traced to him. 

Cod. Ah ! then your two had 'pieces have made a hit. 
He may be the author of a hundred pieces. 

Binks. Come this way. [Dragging Mm off. 

\A violent scream is heard, and a cry of " Murder.^* 

Dog. What's that? 

Both. A cry of murder ! 

Dog. By George, he has killed her ! 

Binks. Take care of him. [Runs off, l. h. 

Cod. You tremble, and look pale. So you. know all 
about this, too. I don't envy you your feelings. Come 
along. Queer originally, I believe ; bad generally, ad- 
mitted. Transportation, certainly, without a doubt. Come 
along. Ah ! would you ? I can do it for you. 

[Drags him off, struggling, r. h. 

Scene VIII. — The Room, as before. 

Tableau. — *' The Bottle has done its Work,^* 
Richard is seized. 

Rich. Ruth! Ruth! What, don't you answer ? 
Binks. She will never speak again. 

Rich. Never! What's here, then 1 Why these people? 
I've done nothing. What does it all mean ? 

Bhiks. Death — by this ! [Pointing to hottle. 

[Richard involuntarily shrinks, passes his hand wildly 
across his forehead, and with a mad laugh falls 
across the Roliceman's arms. 
Rich. Ha ! ha ! The bottle has done its work I 

Scene IX. — A Room. 

Enter George and Esther, r. 

Gear. Don't droop, Esther ! tears are unavailing now, 
and what is past cannot be recalled, 

Esther, I thought we should have rendered them so 
happy — talked of old times, of the days when their hearts 
v/pre light, and the sun of prosperity shone around them. 



54 THE BOTTLE. [Act II. 

She was one of my earliest friends, too, and so anxious 
ever for our welfare ; and this to occur after our long, long 
parting ! Ob, George ! the return which brought joy to 
my heart is now deeply shadowed, and I cannot check 
these tears ; for 'tis very hard to lose an old, old friend. 
And how deep the regret, when by sudden and violent 
means. Oh, George ! do not think me unkind ; but in- 
deed I can't help it. 

Geor. A deep and moral lesson may be learned from 
this, and I thank Heaven that I avoided the pernicious 
instrument which, years back, tempted me. 

Esther. But the unhappy husband, he — 

Geor. The landlady is coming this way ; we may learn 
from her— 

Enter Mrs. Grump, l. 

Mrs. G. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! that such an event should 
occur in my place ! Ah ! sir, if you are friends, you come 
at a bad time. 

Geor. Yes — I know, I know ; but the unhappy man — 
he — 

Mrs. G. What with the drink, which has led him to the 
fatal act, and the fearful deed, for him there is no hope. 

Geor. Alas ! no. I tremble when I think of his state ! 
He must now feel deeply ; for the years of misery he has 
endured will be nothing compared to the agony he now 
must feel. 

Mrs. G. Feel ! La, bless you ! there is no feeling in 
him ; his brain's turned — his senses fled — he is uncon- 
scious of everything around. 

Geor. Tlien his last refuge is the madhouse. Oh ! Es- 
ther, this — this is too painful to dwell upon ; let us leave 
this place. 

Esther. Yet I would see her once again — for the last, 
last time ; only to press her hand — to drop a tear in me- 
mory of old, old times. 

Mrs. G. See her ! Ugh ! \Sh?idders. 

Geor. I guess your meaning ; it is impossible now to 
comply with your wish. Come, Esther, you must strive 
to forget ; you must-— 

Esther. Poor Ruth ! 

[George sorroiv fully leads her out^ l. 



Scene X.J THE BOTTLE. 56 

Mrs. G. Well, I did my best for her, poor soul. I never 
troubled her for money, if 1 could help it ; and many's 
the bit of bread-and-butter the children have had from 
me : and I'm glad now that I never used any harshness; 
if I had, after this, 1 should never have been able to sleep; 
but, thank my stars, I've done my duty by the unfortunate, 
and now let my betters take a leaf out of my book. 

[Exit, R. 

Scene X. and Last. — The Madhouse. 
Tableau Realised. 

KicHARD chained. The Boy and the Girl, and the Keeper 

looking through the door, 

Ned. Don't you know me, father 1 

Rich. Know ! what is there to know 1 Yes ; it's 
warmer here, and better than the cold and muddy streets. 
I can't telHvhat has brought this change about, I can't; 
I've been puzzling my brain, but to no purpose. It don't 
beat now as it used to do. It's very strange why she 
don't come; I never knew her quit my side till now. — 
Why don't she come 1 

Ned. She will never come again. Don't you know 1 — 
Tliink! 

Rich. I tell you that I don't know; and what have I 
got to think about? Who are you that ask it? 

Ned. Your son. 

Rich. What, my son ! No, no ; he is ragged, and in 
the streets. My son ! — he's not such a fine gentleman as 
you, and yet — say it again. 

Ned. Your son ! 

Thor. There is a mist before me, and I cannot distin- 
guish your face ; but the voice is very like, very. But, if 
you are my son, you can tell me where your mother is. — 
Ha ! ha ! you can tell me that. 

Ned. She is dead ! 

Thor. Dead ! who killed her? It must have been very 
sudden. Ah ! I know ; it was a blow — a heavy one ; and 
her last words are now ringing in my ears : Live and re- 
pent ! Ha ! ha ! but no one knows who dealt that blow, 
eh? 

Ned. The hand I now orrnsp. 



56 THE BOTTLE. fAcT 11. 

Thor. Me ! Why, she h^s spoken a thousand times 
with pride, that I never raised my hand against her ; the 
whole world knew that. Ah ! \ With a sudden burst.] — 
Oh ! yes — I did. It was this hand, and it grasped the in- 
strument of destruction — mine. Oh ! what a scream, and 
what a horrid cry rings through the streets in the dark 
night. It is murder! Ha ! ha ! and they say the husband 
has killed his wife ; and so he did — so he did. Look at 
the red stains around ; look ! it flows like a river; it creeps 
up to my feet : take me from it or I shall perish in that 
dark sea. Closer yet. And, oh ! what a face is that glar- 
ing full upon me from the crimson pool ! It is her's — 
Ruth's ; I know it. She tells me I have murdered her, 
and a thousand voices echo it. And what is that by her 
side ? It is the weapon of death ; and a grinning fiend 
rises from the vapour, and mocks and points. It is the 
bottle ! and the spirit of evil now madly laughs at its vic- 
tim. Closer, and closer yet. Oh! take me, out — take 
me — [Sinks exhausted on the ground. 

Ned. Sister, go and take off your finery, I see the end 
of all this. I'll go back to my rags ; honesty lasts, but 
these betray. Spurn all temptation, for here is a warn- 
ing, a bitter lesson. I was half a thief, but this has chang- 
ed me. Good bye, father. 

Enter George, followed by Keeper. 

Keeper. You'll find him there. 'Tis nearly time for visi- 
tors to depart ; take your farewell ; for many days will 
elapse before you see him again. [Retires. 

Ge.or. Do you remember me % [Advances to Richard. 

Thor. I tell you, I know nothing ; never had — Oh I — ah ! 
— yes, I had a home, and there was a bright face there, 
ever 'beaming with smiles; children, too, who loved. — 
Where are they all ? where is she? Gone ! No more of 
the bitter scorn for her. I know where she is, that kind 
and loving mother ; I'll tell you — there, there! Clouds 
open above me, and all is bright beyond. I see her sweet 
face looking faintly down upon me, but it is not the same 
smile of former days, for it is cold and angered ; hit she 
is there. Her spirit has fled to heaven ; but the children 
— I left them last in rags ; what, what will be their fate ? 
No hope for them, none. 



Scene X.] THE BOTTLK. . 57 

Geo. Yes, they shall be my care ; I will find them a 
home — I will protect them. 

Thor. You ! Who are you that offers this ? 

Gear. A friend, who stretches forth a humble, but a wil- 
ling hand, to snatch them from impending vice. 

T/ior. A friend — a friend to me ! Why, who is this ] 
The wretched have no friends — I found it so. Oh ! I 
must know more of you — oh ! oh ! I must ! 

Keeper. His mad fit is coming on ; you must part com- 
pany now. 

Thor. Part ! who spoke of parting ] No, no, don't 
part us ; I must have company ; I dare not be alone again ; 
the red stream rises. What sudden burst of light was 
that] It was one momentary ray of reason — the truth. 
I killed her, and I am mad. The shroud of darkness is 
drawn aside. She is dead, and heeds not now my tears. 
Oh ! friend — for 1 know you now — and you, my children, 
judge me not too sternly ; I feel that T am fast dying ; let 
me die here ; but, oh ! what hope is there for me 1 

[Clinging to children. 

Geor. Resignation. Pray for forgiveness there ! 

Thor. Your pitying face seems to say a contrite spirit 
may be remembered at the Throne of Mercy. Kneel, 
kneel with me, children ; and may thy tears wash away a 
parent's sin ! 

Geor. [Affected.] Richard ! 

Thor. Hush ! their lips are stirred in prayer — for me, 
for me ! Fold your arms around me — closer yet. What 
mist is that which is falling] what bubbling is this next 
my heart 1 Pray on — pray on — the sound grows fainter 
— fainter — I die in prayer. [Falls back. 

THE END. 



THE MINOR DRAMA, 

Uniform with the Modern Standard Drama. 



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Richard IIL 
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Virginius. 

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